


The Art Of Dropping A Piano

by Ros192



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Russian Bucky Barnes, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-10-28 09:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10828095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ros192/pseuds/Ros192
Summary: James Barnes was a student at MIT. Tony Stark was his crazy roommate. James disliked Tony Stark, his experiments was a safety hazard for everybody on their floor. Tony introduced James to Captain Steve Rogers of the 42nd Infantry Division. James disliked Tony a little bit less.





	1. One

Moving back to America had not been the plan. For a long while, James Barnes had been convinced that he would live in St.Petersburg until his last day. But after his aunt had died and he and the rest of the family traveled back to Brooklyn for the funeral, he'd fallen back in love with his home town.

James Barnes was nineteen years of age and born in Brooklyn, New York. His father, born into a second generation Italian in Brooklyn and his mother, born and breed in Moscow, had fallen in love in 1981. Him being the first of four children. The reason why the Barnes family had moved back to his mother's roots in 2003 was always said to be because of the horrendous political environment post 9/11. James had known from the start it had been because of his father's passing.

He’d resettled in St.Petersburg better than most had expected, he seemed to understand the look on his mother's face better than anyone else. James now knows that she had been resentful for not being blissfully ignorant like his siblings. James excelled in school, already being fluent in Russian and English at eleven, he started to learn Italian to his mother's approval. Despite his success in language and sport, he was drawn to the scientific subjects most of all. At thirteen he knew that he wanted to be a engineer. After looking at the universities in Russia, most of them focusing on the arts, his eyes moved to the United States. He also knew that the majority of the great scientific research was done in English, all of the journals he owned, acting as proof. So it came to be the main goal was to move back to his childhood country to study his undergrad in military engineering. This revolution happened exactly two hours into the funeral. His mother had looked disappointed in her fifteen year old son. 

Because his father's legal U.S citizenship and his mother's status as a Russian diplomat, it had been almost too easy to get a duel citizenship. But it would take James another seven years of working in a corner shop and studying late until his eyes were raw, until he'd gotten a fifty precent scholarship to MIT. With his mother's long awaited approval, James Barnes left Russia in August of 2016. 

The States was different than what he'd remembered from that funeral seven years ago, but he'd expected as much, it was the first time he was totally on his own and was forced to be completely independent. He tried to push off the anxiety rolling off his back like a radiator. He, with his surprisingly impressive amount of savings decided to get a shared dorm room, he was showed to his dorm in the Burton Connor house, a big, quite ugly brick house. He walked alone up to his assigned dorm on the second floor and was surprised to see his roommate had already settled in. After all it was a week until classes started and because of his flight, it was close to six in the morning.

James tried to not feel so uncomfortable and cleared his throat, while leaning in the doorway. His roommate, turned around, his black hair a mess and his band t-shirt in a state of dirt and wear didn't seem like a fashion statement.

"Hey there! Welcome to Burton Two, man! First off, the name's Tony Stark, secondly right side of the room is my territory, and thirdly is that McDonalds?" James blinked at the human equivalent to a hurricane and then looked down at his brown, fat soaked take away bag and then back to "Tony."

"Uh, James Barnes." He mumbled and carefully reached out his hand. Tony gave him a odd look and shook his hand firmly. 

“Yes, it's McDonalds." He said and put down his backpack on the empty bed on the left side. Tony tilted his head and starred him down for a few moments.

"Is that all you have with you, man what are you? Backpacker extreme, minimalist edition?" James looked at the 25 litre Herschel backpack and shrugged. Hand luggage was the only thing his budget allowed. Tony laughed and shook his head.

"You're not much of a talker are you?" James sat down slowly on the bed and internally winced at the brick hard bed.

"Seems to me like you are capable speaking for the both of us bud." Tony barked out a laugh and nodded his head in approval.

"I think this is going to be an excellent rooming agreement."

 

Tony was fucking insane. Despite his manic tendencies, he did keep his things to the right side of the dorm. The things he did keep there however, was questionable at best. The first three weeks had been fine. They had talked to each other enough to be friendly and not become to overbearing. Although Tony had done most of the talking. The classes had been as impressive as James had hoped. If James subtracted the impossible amount of one-night stands and four AM studying sessions, Tony wasn’t a bad room mate. That was until last night. 

He’d attended a party at New House. James’d expanded his social network, getting numbers from architecture majors. He’d returned to his dorm at a reasonable time, managing a short studying session as well. As James knew it, Tony was back when the sun rose, still drunk off his face. He’d heard him come in, with less grace than a hippopotamus. James had fallen back asleep, he was just getting used to Tony’s eccentric behaviour.

When James had woken up again, however, he was not as neutral to the situation. 

James was not surprised to find stray papers scattered on the right side floor. Tony tended to design things like military grade aircrafts when intoxicated. Tony was a planning for a S.B in aerospace engineering major after all.At first, James had been impressed. His initial impression was quickly overshadowed by the bathroom reeking of vomit and excrement. James shook his head at the various equations that was jotted down in Tony’s signature scrawl. James sighed and put it back on Tony’s bedside table. It was just after nine in the morning, Tony still fast asleep. Then James turned his head and a row of Russian curses left his mouth. 

The dorm room door was missing. James stepped closer, his mouth opening wider in disbelief with every step. He inspected the damage and laughed. He took a deep breath and looked back at Stark. Who was blissfully unaware of James’ building rage. The door looked like it had been pulled off its hinges. Pieces of wood was still stuck to the metal. James shook his head and swore again. He stepped two paces to the left, grabbing his phone from his desk and his wallet. He threw on one of his seven shirts and pulled on his shoes. He took one last glance at the missing door before he walked out of their dorm room. James walked to the 233 shared living space, throwing himself on of the couches. 

He opened the FaceTime app on his old iPhone 4. It was three PM in Moscow and he knew that she didn’t mind when he called unannounced. She picked up after two rings. The Wifi in B2 was sufficient at best, James could almost count the pixels that made up her face on the screen.

“ _Zdravstvuyte_.” Natasha Romanoff greeted him with a raised eyebrow. James sighed and replied with less enthusiasm.

“What is it, James?” She asked. James explained the events that had transpired from yesterday evening until now, exaggerating a little bit. Natasha filled in with agreeing sounds and shared displeasure with James’ roommate.

“It sounds like you should contact the GRT.” Natasha said after ten minutes of a mainly one-sided conversation. James sighed deeply.

“No, I mean I don’t wanna bother Lisa. Tony isn’t that bad, I just want to, you know, have a door.” James said and shook his head. Natasha tilted her head to the left.

“You just spent ten minutes complaining about him.” She said drily. 

“He’s the only one that I tolerate… Most people here are very one-minded.” James defended. Natasha laughed.

“Hard time making friends?” James raised an eyebrow.

“This is MIT, not kindergarten.”

“Besides, no one is here to make friends…” James continued. Natasha frowned. She, like James had lived a pretty isolated childhood and was drawn to each other because there wasn’t anyone else to befriend. Natasha knew that James had hoped that his limited social network would expand when moving to America again, maybe even start a relationship. But after two weeks and numerous FaceTime calls, the probability of either was starting to falter.

“You’ll manage. Go and get to know Stark’s friends.” She said with a shrug. James was glad she wasn’t as stressed and overbearing as his mother was about his college experience. James laughed.

“I’m pretty sure that Tony has less friends than me.” Natasha scoffed.

“Impossible.” She said in a final voice. James chuckled and raised his eyebrows.

“Thanks… Speaking of, are you? Making friends?” Natasha looked vivid for James mentioning it. Natasha was a year younger than him, but she’d managed to accomplish more than him, in James’ eyes. She was in the Corps de ballet at the Bolshoi theatre. Everybody knew that the dancers in the corps were competitive and menacing. Natasha was a brilliant ballet dancer, but she had to climb up the ranks just like everybody else.

“Daria was sabotaged.” Natasha said with a faux nonchalance. James inquired her to explain.

“Someone put broken glass in her pointe shoes yesterday. She was kicked out a few hours ago.” James raised his eyebrows in disbelief. He’d known from before that ballet was cutthroat, but he didn’t know that people was actively trying to hurt each other.

“That’s brutal… Why was she sabotaged?”

“Rumour has it she was getting the flower crops part in the Nutcracker. Most dancers weren’t too happy with that. In short, I think I have a harder time making friends than you.” James made a sound of agreement. James was struggling a little bit in his real analysis class, not being used to being in second place. But he would never do something like plant an explosive in someone’s TI-84 Plus calculator.

“You gonna talk to that architecture major again?” Natasha asked and for a second James wished he wouldn’t have told Nat everything. James groaned loudly. He whispered a no and shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure that she was more interested in bridge infrastructures than my face… Like I said, people here care about getting their diploma, not serious relationships.” James said with a wave of his hand, irritated with the devoted academic majority.

“Does that mean that you have-“

“That does not mean that I’ve been celibate since I came here.” James cut off, finishing Nat’s line of thought. She frowned.

“But you haven’t had sex with anyone yet, you would have told me otherwise.” She said. James shook his head. What they had gone through together had made it acceptable to talk about everything with each other. After all, Nat was the only possible person to talk about his failing love life with. Natasha took his silence as a confirmation of her suspicions and sighed.

“The longest dry spell you had here lasted a week. What had changed?”

“I’ve changed Nat, I don’t wanna have three one-night stands a week anymore. It’s boring.” James said finally.

“Oh.”

“Oh, what?” James looked up at the screen with a frown.  


“You’re starting to sound like an adult. Good for you. Are you also longing for you first mortgage plan?” James rolled his eyes. Natasha was smirking and James would not have this conversation right now.

“ _Proshchay_ , Natasha.” He said and clicked the red button. James sighed deeply. Natasha had been his friend for almost ten years. Talking to her was like airing out a bad smell. Reliving and left him calm. It also reminded him his grand total of one friend he considered reliable. It was almost pathetic at this point.

“Since when did you speak Russian?” James yelped and dropped his phone onto his lap. He turned his face to see Tony standing behind his shoulder. James scowled and swore.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“A few minutes. How long have you been speaking Russian?” Tony asked again. James rolled his eyes in irritation.

“I’m Russian, in case you forgot.” He mumbled. Tony frowned. Before Tony could add anything else, James asked about the missing door and Tony laughed, like he’d forgotten that they didn’t have a door anymore.

“Oh yeah! Centripetal force.” Was his minimal explanation. James just blinked and raised his eyebrows. It seemed like a conversation with Stark that lasted for more than two minutes always caused an headache. Instead of arguing with him, James picked up his phone and stood up.

“Just fix it.” He walked out of the door before Stark could say anything else. James opted for stairs instead of the elevator and sighed in relief when the door closed behind him. He replied to Nat’s passive aggressive text, ignoring his spelling mistakes. Switching between Russian and English wasn’t that hard, but the only one he spoke Russian with was Natasha and his mom. He was slightly out of practice. He rolled his eyes when Nat replied with a row of emojis. He pocketed his phone and dug through his left jacket pocket. He pulled out a smushed pack of Winston and lit it with an old lighter. He started to trek down Amherst Alley to Flour Bakery. He walked in the cool early Fall air for twelve minutes before he reached the bakery doors. He pulled the door even though it was a push door, his irritation growing with every passing hour of the day. He treated himself to a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream. His budget didn’t allow for six dollar drinks, but he thought that he deserved it.

He grabbed a seat by a window, connecting his phone to the significantly better Wifi. He browsed around for a few minutes, fucking around on pointless social media apps and read a few Onion articles, sipping on the rich drink slowly. He chuckled to himself while watching an episode of _Die Anstalt_. He frowned when he heard someone clear their throat next to him. James pulled out his headphones and looked up. 

“James Barnes?” James nodded. The man smiled and offered his hand.

“Clint Barton, we’re on the same floor. I live at 241C.” He announced loudly. James shook his hand firmly and starred as Clint Barton took a seat next to him. James almost opened his mouth to protest, but Clint beat him to it.

“So you’re Stark’s roommate.” James nodded again and frowned. Clint let out an easy laugh.

“Don’t look so terrified man.” James huffed.

“You know Stark?” He asked instead. Clint nodded and took a sip from his takeaway cup. The teabag tag hitting him in the side of his face.

“Everybody knows who Stark is after that toilet paper dodgeball game at Conner5 last week.” He exclaimed. James nodded slowly. He’d been invited, but chosen to study for 18.01, Calculus class instead. James wasn’t that well versed in the campus lifestyle. Much less involved in the gossip and rumours at Burton-Conner. But he had heard about Stark’s glorious victory. Stark hadn’t shut up about it for days.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you are missing a door.” James groaned loudly. Barton laughed.

“I’m assuming it’s a Stark Trademark piece of work?” James nodded.

“Yeah, I have no idea why and how, all I want is a fucking door.” James muttered. He looked back at Barton, who was looking expectantly at him. James frowned again. Barton rolled his eyes.

“Can you repeat that? I’m deaf.” He made an aborted gesture at his ears and only then James noticed the hearing aids in his ears. Barton waved him off dismissively when James started to apologise. James repeated himself louder and made sure that Barton could see his lips. Barton laughed in response.

“Stark is the definition of an insane genius.” Barton commented. James made a sound of agreement.

“Quick question, what are you doing next Friday?” James raised an eyebrow. Barton winced and swore.

“I mean, not as a date. Not that I wouldn’t date,” Barton bit the inside of his cheek,” Uh, me and some others from B1 are gonna go to the movies, if you wanna tag along. The Stark one-man show seems pretty lonely.” He clarified. James considered it for a few seconds. So far Fridays had been reserved for research hours. He thought about Natasha and his short list of American friends. James drained his cup and nodded.

“Why not, sure. Just don’t put broken glass in my shoes.” Barton gave him a look.

“What.”

 

The examination room was filled to the brim with tension. MIT was hosting a core exam for the 18.02 physics class. They were being held in the auditorium. The large space had been cleared to make room for hundreds of desks. Every inch of the area was covered. The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of pencils.

Brows were sweating. Heads throbbed. Hands cramped.

James was unconcerned. He sat in the final row, in the back corner. He spun a HB pencil between his fingers. The yellow polished wood slid easily through his slim fingers, twirling through the air. There was still an hour left of the exam; but he had already finished. James knew that he would receive one hundred percent on the final. He wasn't arrogant or needlessly overconfident. But he’d studied his ass off for serval weeks. One thing that he was good at was persisting. It was what got him into MIT to begin with. 

He sat through the obligatory exam time, before he and three others walked up to the examiner’s desk as soon as the clock hit 10AM. He handed in the booklet and with a final nod, turned for the door. Before he made his exit he looked back at the glaring undergrads and found Barton quickly. James gave him an exaggerated smile and a thumbs up, Barton replied silently with a middle finger. James laughed and walked out of the door. He felt relived that he only had one exam for the day and cracked his neck as soon he’d stepped out. With his backpack slung over his shoulder he started to walk for the exit.

He lit a cigarette, breathing out slowly when he was hit with cold November air. He replied to Nat’s pessimistic ‘you’ll probably fail the exam’ text with a triumphant ‘I aced it’, ending it with an emoji. Barton and Nat’s unhealthy use of them had rubbed off. A month earlier he’d invested in a longboard, he’d gotten it for ten bucks from craigslist. It was an old thing with stickers and paint falling off it, but it was a better way to get around campus than walking. James also refused to get a scooter that some of the professors and students used. He made his way back to Burton-Conner in six minutes, only falling once. Luckily there was no one to witness it. 

He walked up the stairs to B2, greeting a handful of undergrads in the living area on the way. He couldn’t help but brag a little bit about how easy the exam was. Sammi from 233F told him to fuck off and shook her head. James laughed and walked to 233C. James sighed deeply as he walked into the dorm. It had now become known throughout the entire nine floors of Burton-Conner that the Barnes-Stark dorm was missing their door. It had become a Burton-Conner exclusive inside joke. Stark had not fixed the missing door, explaining that it gave their dorm more character. James had replied that it also made their dorm more attractive to thieves. Nonetheless they did not have a door. It had much to Stark’s pleasure and James’ displeasure gained them the nickname ‘The Doorless Dudes’. If that was the peak of creativeness at MIT James was sure that they were doomed. 

James threw his backpack on his unmade bed and shoved the longboard under his bed. He swore under his breath when his left foot stuck to the floor, his battered Vans were covered in something sticky, James for once hoped it was only alcohol. He’d become used to Tony’s weird experiments and his active crusade to destroy their dorm room. One of the four windows still had cracks in it from Tony building a thruster from 233B’s broken mini-fridge. James had decided to just accept it as college life. It made things more interesting at least. James sat down on his bed, taking off his shoes. He opened his HP laptop, opening his Gmail account and started to compile a monthly summary for his mom. His mom hated using cell-phones, stating it caused cancer. Her arguments were weak, but James didn’t bother to correct her on the logic of it. He winced at his Russian, his language proficiency had gone downhill. He barley practised it, Italian had also taken a backseat. He proofread it twice and shrugged. Good enough he thought and pressed send. 

“You have to clean the floor.” James announced when he saw Tony entering. He grimaced. 

“I’ll think about it?” He said with a half smile. James closed his eyes.

“I hate you.” He whispered. Tony laughed.

“That is just not the truth, Barnes.” James didn’t react when Tony sat next to him on his bed. In fact, he smirked to himself. He hadn’t washed his duvet since he moved in.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Not you.” James replied without missing a beat. Tony swore playfully under his breath.

“In all seriousness, what are you doing tomorrow night? At eight, to be precise.” James closed the laptop and faced Tony. He squinted his eyes.

“Is this a test?”

“It could be. Now, what are you doing tomorrow, I hate repeating myself.” James shrugged. He had some plans to cook dinner with the rest of the 233 residents, but nothing solid. He told Tony so and he smiled, teeth and all at the reply.

“Great! Harvard is hosting an event and you have to come. You can bring the conjoined twins, too.” James rolled his eyes at the nickname Stark had given the 241C roommates, Clint Barton and Kate Bishop.

“They hate that nickname.” Tony rolled his eyes and sighed. Tony let go of the subject with an impatient hand gesture.

“It’s veterans day tomorrow and Harvard is hosting a charity gala for American veterans. You should come.” James frowned, he sounded far too innocent for James’ liking. Tony attended several B2 events and rarely invited James. He didn’t mind it, Stark was different from James no doubt and James had no interest in ultimate frisbee games with B3.

“Why are you so persistent on me being there?” He asked slowly.

“Because I apparently have to have physical proof that I have friends here.” James scoffed. Tony like James, didn’t mind being a lone wolf, but there was no way that James was the closet friend Stark had on campus. Tony was sociable and occasionally funny, despite being an asshole, people were drawn to him. Because when talking to Stark, everything didn’t revolve around coursework. It was like a breath of fresh air, talking with him.

“And I’m the only option?” James asked. Tony hummed.

“Well, no… But you’re the only respectable candidate. Bruce from Tang is a good one, but he’s too anti-social.” Tony said with a shrug. James scrunched his brow. Tang Hall was a coed housing for graduates. James had no idea that Tony knew graduates, but it didn’t surprise him.

“And I’m not?” James asked, Tony grimaced.

“Eh, you have like six friends. Which is five more than what most sophomore undergrads have.” James sighed at the exaggeration but was flattered that Tony would come to him, because James knew that Tony knew how much shit he talked about Tony.

“BTW, means by the way-“

“I know that.” James cut off, much to Tony’s displeasure.

“Anyways… It’s a cocktail charity event. Wear something nice.” He gestured to James’ initially white t-shirt that was slowly turning grey.

“I own like, seven shirts. None of them are appropriate for Harvard.” James stated drily. It wasn’t a lie. He’d arrived to America with seven shirts, three pants, a week’s worth of underwear and one sweater. Harvard was for trust fund babies and people who could afford watches from Barneys. 

“Which is why I’m taking you shopping.” James raised an eyebrow.

“So you’re my sugar daddy now?” Tony nodded.

“For each blowjob, you'll get a Gucci shirt.” James tilted his head to the left. Tony, dressed in a dirty band tee and the same jeans for the last week, looked like the last person to even know what Gucci was.

“I hope you’re kidding…” James muttered.

“I don’t kid about Harvard! You need clothes, I need clothes. Might as well go together. The blowjob is optional, of course.” James tried to hang on to every word. Tony usually spoke quicker than James could think, so he opted to nod his head.

“Sure, I’ll be at H&M.” He said ironically. Tony looked devastated that he’d even mentioned it.

“Not on my watch. Speaking of, meet me at the Westgate lot, at three. Tell the twins to dress up too!” As he was speaking, he stepped closer to the door and James opened his mouth to stop him. Just as he finished the sentence he walked out, it would have been more dramatic if he had a door to close behind him. James exhaled deeply and threw himself on the bed.

James frowned deeply at the cup. It was an old, chipped cup, filled with half a packet of ramen and hot water. James thought of home cooked meals and didn’t contain enough sodium to kill a small child. He never thought he would miss smoked halibut. He shrugged and took a bite. It was good enough for him. He would live of ramen for another month it meant that he could afford next semesters text books. He stirred the ramen and looked up at the group. The group he’d come to call friends. Clint, Kate and Scott all lived in B2 and all ate similar trash as James as lunch.

“So Harvard-“ James was cut off by Kate making a disgusted sound. James sighed.

“Does anybody know about a charity gala Harvard is hosting?” He asked. Clint nodded, chewing his shared pizza with Kate with an open mouth. James grimaced in disgust and took a sip of water.

“Yeah! The veterans thing. You’re invited, huh?” James raised his eyebrows.

“How did you know?”

“Because your roommate is Tony Stark?” He said like it was obvious.

“How did you know that he invited me?” Clint laughed, Scott and Kate joined him after a few seconds.

“Since you’re Russian, I’ll give you a pass. But seriously, how do you not know who the Stark family is?” James shrugged.

“Game of Thrones?” The trio laughed again.

“Different family, but close.” Scott said.

“The Starks, the real ones. Are kinda famous. Howard Stark, founded Stark Industries. Eleventh richest man in the world or something. Anyway, a game changer in the weapons industry. Attended Harvard, hence charity gala at Harvard and for the veterans because of his close relationship with the military weapons division. Died in ’05, it was a great American tragedy.” Kate explained in a twenty second crash course.

“So, Stark is a trust fund baby?” James asked with a little bit of distain.

“Dude, he regularly designs working aircrafts when he’s piss drunk. I think he got in on his own merit.” Scott said and popped a gummy bear in his mouth.

“Stark isn’t a trust fund baby per say, but he knows his way around people who are.” Kate said. James let out a sound of frustration.

“Well, I don’t and he invited me to the event.” The three of them looked impressed and a little bit surprised at James’ words. Clint nodded and gave him a wry smile.

“Are you gonna go?” James squirmed when three pairs of eyes starred him down.

“Eh… Seems pretentious.” He tried nonchalantly paired with a shrug. Clint and Kate shared a look and then looked back at James. He silently agreed with the nickname ‘Conjoined Twins’ they seemed to share a brain sometimes.

“You have to go dude, all the important people will be there. For example, Secretary Ross.” Clint mentioned with the same nonchalance as James. James gaped and laughed.

“You’re kidding.”

“He’s not. It’s a well known fact that Ross and Stark were close friends. Ross is always there on the behalf of the American military.” Kate said with a shrug. James tapped the table, drumming it in anxious overthinking. He’s certainly not cut out for the Harvard lifestyle. Humanities was not his strong suit and he preferred to be left alone in the Rotch library than socialise with the elite.

“It’s a big opportunity.” Clint said and Kate made a sound of agreement.

“Well, you’re invited so… Big opportunity for us then?”

“Dude, seriously?” Kate asked, gobsmacked at the very idea of it. James took another bite and nodded.

“Yeah, Tony said to invite quote on quote the ‘Conjoined Twins’.” James said. Kate and Clint shared a identical frown.

“I hate that nickname.” They stated in unison. 

“And you just proved his point.” Scott said, Clint swore under his breath and sighed.

“So he didn’t invite me?” Scott didn’t seem that disappointed at the prospect, he looked almost amused by it. James shrugged.

“Sorry man, he didn’t say.” Scott shrugged and ate another candy in silence.

“Apparently I have to go shopping for this.” James said. Clint snorted a laugh.

“No shit.” Kate said. James gave her the middle finger. 

“You look like a minimalist gone wrong.” 

“Okay, fuck you too then.” James said to Clint with raised eyebrows. Clint chuckled and refilled his cup. A entire coffee pot had been sitting next to him for the entire meal. It had gone too long time for James to ask about Clint’s habits.

“Get a suit. We’ll wear a suit, right Kate?” Kate laughed.

“I’ll be wearing a pantsuit, mind you.” 

“Same thing.” Clint said and rolled his eyes. James frowned. He pulled out his phone as the two started to argue about the difference between pantsuits and regular suits. He went on his Bank Of America app and logged in. A heavy stone fell in his stomach as he looked at the numbers on the screen. Eighty two dollars and eighty cents. He bit the inside of his cheek and sighed. He didn’t have time to get a job, even part time because of his coursework. Asking his mom wasn’t an option. He hand’t asked for money since he was fifteen years old.

“Is there like a savers or a salvation army around here?” James cut off, they had somehow dragged Scott into the argument, who looked relived for the change of subject. James refused to acknowledge the looks of pity.

“Uh, there’s a goodwill at Ma Avenue I think…” Kate trailed off. James nodded and gave them a weak smile.

“I told you, we’re going shopping, for a watch as well, apparently.” James spun around, Tony was standing behind him. James groaned.

“Can’t you do less dramatic announcements of your presence?” He asked, annoyed. Tony smirked, playing with car keys and shrugged.

“It’s the only way I know how to make an entrance.” He said and leaned over to snatch a gummy bear from Scott’s bag. Scott glared but allowed it to happen.

“It’s twenty past. Let’s go.” James rolled his eyes and continued to eat his fifty cent lunch.

“You’re never punctual.” He said and thought back at the several interruptions in class when Tony had arrived ten minutes late. 

“But you’re not Tony Stark.”

“Please never refer yourself in third person ever again.” James said.

“Are you guys coming tomorrow?” He asked. Clint and Kate nodded mutely. Tony gave them a brilliant smile.

“Great. Barnes. Car’s waiting outside, I’m double parked so make it snappy.” James rolled his eyes and stood up, shrugging his jacket on.

“Didn’t even know you owned a car.” He muttered under his breath. James said a quick goodbye to the trio and jogged after Tony, who’d already started to make his way out. James gave him a look when Tony pressed on the button for the elevator. When they walked out of the door, they were met with the chill of the November air. James pulled his jacket closer to him, wishing he’d pulled on a sweater over his t-shirt. Tony was indeed double parked outside Burton-Conner. James tried to avoid gawking at Tony’s vintage beauty of a car. He felt that there was not need to fuel Tony’s ego further. James groaned when he heard the familiar guitar of the beginning of an AC/DC song. He’d endured far too much classic rock living under the same roof as Tony. Tony just smiled and put the volume a notch higher. James looked out the window, both of them were silent for a few minutes. It was the longest Tony had been quiet. Eventually he swallowed his pride and bit the bullet.

“I’m serious when I say that I can’t afford to buy a new suit.” James said quietly. His horror grew as Tony pulled into the Copley Place parking lot. It was a large, posh shopping centre that probably cost two bucks an hour just to breathe in. James bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at Tony. 

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on me. Haven’t you heard? I’m a trust fund baby.” Tony turned to face James, who sighed.

“It’s rude to eavesdrop.” He said. Tony snorted.

“Get the fuck out of the car Barnes. We might find some gratefulness at Armani.” Tony said and stepped out of the car. James followed his suit and carefully closed the door behind him. They walked into the shopping centre, James biting his bottom lip hard. It was obvious that James didn’t fit into the scene. Dressed in Vans and a dirty jacket contrasted against shined leather shoes and fitted suit jackets. But on one hand, Tony’s clothes were worse to wear than James’. Tony’s jeans were stained in motor oil and ripped in a way that wasn’t a fashion statement. James walked carefully over the polished floor, following Tony’s every step. 

“Relax, they’re only gonna kick you out when you start asking for money.” James gave him a blank stare and groaned when Tony walked into a store. They were immediately attacked by a squad of salesmen with too large smiles and white teeth. Tony gave them a dry look and James watched in amazement when Tony opened his mouth. Tony held up a hand, stopping the salesman mid-sentence.

“Actually, I need a suit for my friend here. I’m thinking, the Trofeo, two buttons. From this season, obviously,” Tony stopped and looked James up and down for a second,” size 46 regular fits, I hope. White dress shirt… Let’s be risky and try in black as well. The leather Vetements in…” Tony turned to James, who’s mouth was slightly open.

“What shoe size are you?”

“Uh… A ten.” Tony flashed a smile and turned back to the man who was smiling just as wide as before.

“In size ten. And I already have an order under Anthony Stark to pick up. Thanks.” He dismissed the salesman who scurried away with a respectful nod. James looked at Tony with raised eyebrows. He pulled Tony to the side, a hand on Tony’s arm.

“What the fuck was that?” He hissed, Tony grimaced theatrically.

“James, this is Neiman Marcus, no profanity allowed.” James laughed in disbelief.

“I don’t mean to be rude-“

“You are.” Tony cut off.

“ _But_ , I’m pretty sure that list of things costs more than my entire college tuition!” His last words ending on a pitch. Tony rolled his eyes.

“And you’re right! I hate to repeat myself, but I will, since you’re not getting it. I’m loaded. I could spend this kind of money for years, everyday without even making a dent in my bank account.” He said in final voice. James frowned and considered it. 

“Then why are you staying in shared housing?” He asked. Tony deflated and sighed.

“Maybe because I want to have some friends, alright?” He spat in annoyance. James smiled, it was the first time Tony seemed to show that he had the same problems as James. Tony rolled his eyes when James cooed at him. 

“This is great, but you can’t buy my friendship.” James said to make things clear. Tony groaned loudly.

“Oh my god! Can’t you just accept the clothes!?”

 

James accepted the clothes. In fact, he was happy he did. James didn’t consider himself a vain person. But he knew that he looked good in the clothes Tony had bought. After thanking him more times than necessary, James had taken the glossy bags in his hands, the price of the content he didn’t want to know. He looked at himself in the mirror and had to admit that Tony had a good eye. The suit fit perfectly, snug in the right places but lose enough to be able to move. Tony had also explained that it was totally normal to buy high end brands to their roommates. James had just raised an eyebrow and said that he was going to ignore the missing door for another month as payment. Tony was ecstatic with the news. James felt a little uncomfortable, not wanting to risk sitting down, or even move for that matter. He adjusted the collar again and pulled a hand through his hair. He smiled when he saw Nat calling. He’d sent a picture of the outfit to her only five minutes ago. When he picked up he was met with the sound of Nat’s screeching.

“You have a sugar daddy!” James winced, but laughed, because that was a sentence he never thought that Natasha would ever utter. 

“Hello to you too.” He replied in Russian. Natasha was manically laughing on the other end.

“Oh my god, what the fuck? Last I saw you, you were wearing the same pants you had since high school. What happened?” James smiled and walked out of the bathroom, sitting down carefully on his bed.

“Tony Stark happened.”

“Are you fucking him?” James made a disgusted sound at the thought of it.

“No! Nat, are you what, delusional?”

“Because you totally should, if it means you won’t look like a hobo anymore.”

“Thank you for that.” James said sarcastically. Nat huffed.

“So what’s up? Why are you dressed better than the people attending my shows?” She asked with faux innocence.

“Charity event at Harvard.”

“You hate those things.” She stated.

“It’s an opportunity.” He echoed Clint’s words. She laughed.

“Yeah, to get laid, Harvard undergrads are sluts.” James frowned and made a sound at the American slag in the middle of a Russian sentence. She dismissed it with a snort.

“Why is it so important for me to get laid suddenly?” 

“Because you’re being uptight and stressed out. I get more intimacy at the Bolshoi than you and Nikolai punched the pianist for getting Shostakovich wrong today.” James chuckled.

“Nikolai has always been an asshole.”

“True. Anyways, you should let loose. Harvard might be good for you. Might even get a rich girlfriend. Or boyfriend.” James sighed deeply. The amount of times Nat had brought up his lacking love life the last month reminded him of his mom.

“Did you shave?” Nat asked. For every word sounding more and more like his mom. James grimaced and stroked his stubble.

“I look like I’m twelve when I do, so no, I haven’t.” She made a sound of approval.

“Good. Harvard only accepts prodigy twelve year olds. You are neither so…” James sometimes wondered why he allowed Nat to offend him every other sentence.

“Speaking of Harvard, my ride is waiting.” James said and looked at the watch. Tony and the twins were waiting in the living area. Nat made a sound of protest, but then she laughed. James paused.

“Is Stark giving you a ride in his car?” She asked in a husky voice. James shuddered.

“Hmm, totally, and I’m giving him a hand job on the way there, too.” James said, mostly to fuck with Nat. She gasped in surprise and James hung up before she could shout at him. He chuckled and walked out of the room. He looked back at the bare doorframe with a smile.

The shared car ride with Tony, Kate and Clint as only a little bit awkward. Clint and Kate talking to themselves and Tony was looking too smug for James wanting to engage in conversation. Kate, as promised was wearing a pantsuit. Clint was sporting a chinos and t-shirt combo and seemed comfortable being far too casually dressed. Led Zeppelin was playing on max and no one protested it. James felt like he was the only one who was shaking with nerves. The event was held at the Harvard art museums, so the drive there only lasted ten minutes. Which gave James only ten minutes to collect himself. Kate and Clint were talking about the logistics of Bond watches and how it was impossible to have a powerful laser in an Omega watch. James made his input, stating that James Bond was works of fiction and wasn’t meant to be realistic. Both of them gave him devastated, disappointed looks. Tony cut in saying that in fact, it was a totally plausible thing. James gave up on continuing his argument.

The building was surrounded by cars with tinted windows and drivers with white gloves. James had never felt so out of place before. He walked through the doors after Tony had talked to the door guy, stating their names. James was almost surprised to be let in. The Harvard art museum was as gaudy and pretentious that James had thought. High celling, completely made out of glass. High marble pillars surrounding a large black stone floored area. Servers with champagne flutes millings around people dressed in fine fabrics and army insignias. James cleared his throat and accepted a flute that Tony handed to him with a small smile. Tony turned away, James lost him when he entered the sea of people. James was glued to Clint’s and Kate’s side for twenty minutes. They spent a good amount of time mocking the Harvard students with their slicked back hair and bleached teeth. James just agreed to whatever Clint said. James dragged a hand through his hair again, probably messing it up, but he didn’t care. No one cared about him anyways, he was a MIT student on a scholarship. He had no wealthy donations to make. 

James could only stare in horror when he saw Tony approach them, a man walking next to him. He was dressed in an air force uniform, if James’ knowledge about the American military was correct, the man’s shoulder strap meant that he was a lieutenant colonel. James downed the champagne without tasting with and threw on a tense smile just as they joined them. He glanced over his shoulder and the twins were no where to be seen. James swore internally. 

“Rhodey, this is James Barnes, my roommate. Told you I had one. And James, meet JamesRhodes.” James smiled weakly and shook Rhodes’ hand firmly. 

“No offence man, but I started to doubt your existence after Tony told me about the door incident.” James laughed, genuinely and nodded.

“It’s true. I mean, the door and my existence.” James said and cringed a little bit at his cracked voice. Rhodes smiled and laughed good naturally. 

“How do you find Harvard?” Rhodes asked. Polite and well poised. James wondered how the fuck he’d become friends with Tony. James looked around the area, painted on smiles and expensive jewellery. It wasn’t his forte.

“I think that I’m a MIT guy.” James said finally. Rhodes laughed and nodded.

“I agree, I went to MIT, despite being more uptight over there, we’re not backstabbers.” It must have been an inside joke, because Tony laughed loudly when Rhodes gave him a raised eyebrow.

“How do you find the air force?” James asked to avoid any awkward silences. Rhodes looked impressed at the question and smiled again. 

“Great, I mean I never thought I would join, but after attending one of these parties in my junior year. Man, my whole world was changed.” James hummed, glancing at Tony, who was looking smug and strangely content to keep his mouth shut.

“Is the air force and the army rivalry true? I’ve heard some great stories.” James hadn’t. He’d read some random buzzfeed article about it months ago, mentioning the rivalry off hand. But James felt a little bit inadequate standing between Tony and Rhodes. He nodded and sighed.

“It _used_ to be true. But Wilson and Rogers, one from the army one from air force, polar opposites, best friends since 0’8. They keep defying the unwritten rules of the military goddammit.” He said with an easy tone. James tried to let out a casual laugh. It sounded more like a choke.

“You should see those guys. Like an old married couple, I’ll tell you.” Rhodes said and shook his head.

“I’ve met Rogers once, we didn’t get along.” Stark said with a smirk.

“Maybe it’s because you were an asshole to him?” He said with a raised eyebrow. Tony shrugged and laughed. Rhodes shook his head in defeat. 

“They’re here right? Might as well say hi again!” Tony exclaimed and started to look around. Rhodes starred at Tony in horror.

“Man, you are just looking to start a fight.” Rhodes muttered.

“What did he do?” James asked, unable to withhold a laugh when Tony spun around the room like a maniac.

“He started a something that he had no business in.” Rhodes said curtly. His easy smile was gone. Rhodes looked at Tony with a clenched jaw as he waved over someone James couldn’t see.

“Rogers! Wilson, come over here!” Rhodes closed his eyes and seemed to be in pain. James sensed a level of awkwardness that his social anxiety couldn’t handle and started to back away, slowly. He gasped when Rhodes grabbed his forearm.

“You are not leaving me to tend to this bloodbath.” He hissed at James. James looked at Rhodes with large eyes and nodded mutely. Rhodes let go of James’ arm and gave him a warning look. James looked at Tony who was waving like he was trying to put out a fire. James cringed and wished that he hadn’t accepted the suit, or the invitation. Fuck it, even replied to his acceptance letter to MIT. James swallowed a sigh and pulled out his phone, texting Natasha in a frantic panic.

 _this is awkward and  i want to die a little bit._ James tapped the screen as the writing bubble appeared on the phone. He bit the inside of his cheek and sighed when Nat replied.

_its three in the fucking morning, i have class in five hours. why do you want to die? unexpected quickie in the bathroom?_ James chuckled at the english slang words that were scattered around the cyrillic letters. 

_worse, tony is being socially unacceptable._ Despite her complaint, she replied quickly.

_what did you expect? you’re russian, not a fucking french maiden in distress. You can overcome social awkwardness._ James laughed at her crass and weird description. He sent her an emoji of a egg plant to confuse her and shook his head. This entire situation was moronic and he didn’t belong there. His collar was pressing against his neck, reminding him of a noose. He rolled his eyes at Nat’s cypher of emoji lines. 

James nearly dropped his phone when he felt someone hit him in the chest. He gave Tony an unimpressed look and raised an eyebrow. Tony rolled his eyes.

“This bore, is James Barnes.” He introduced. James turned his head forward and to his horror two people were looking expectantly at him. James wanted to sink into the ground a little bit and shoved his phone back into his pocket, giving them a weak smile. The overwhelming urge to slam his face into a marble pillar restricted his ability to do anything.

“Sam Wilson.” He shook his hand firmly and James tried not let his eyes wander. Like Rhodes he was wearing his air force uniform. Perfectly pressed and steamed. Sam was smiling and ignored James’ odd behaviour. He cleared his throat when his eyes went below Wilson’s face and turned to the other one to not seem so fucking awkward. It turned out to be a mistake. 

“Steve Rogers.” James hoped his mouth wasn’t ajar. Growing up in St.Petersburg, Natasha had been his only real friend. Which had meant that he often went to the prestigious Vaganova academy after school. He would walk in to meet her and the entire academy would be filled with ballet dancers. There was an almost forced intimacy between young, fit people who work in closed quarters, touching each other all day. Every time walking into the academy was like walking into a museum filled with perfectly sculpted bodies. Ballet dancers trained so hard that their own bodies became vessels and their own pieces of art.

James had been surrounded with beautiful people all his life. But he’d never quite seen someone like Steve Rogers before. Dressed in an Army officer’s uniform, that looked at least a size too small, he was as tall as James. Male ballet dancers were required to be lithe and quick on their feet. Tall and skinny. Steve Rogers was broad and there was a uncompromising strength that rested underneath his uniform. When he reached out to shake James’ hand, Steve’s hand reminded him of Nikolai’s hands. Long and elegant. Like a pianist or a dancer, they were hands that belonged to an artist. But Steve’s palms were rough with hard callouses and warm, nothing like Nikolai, but yet reminding James of him.

“Nice to meet you…” James closed his eyes when he heard his phone go off. He should have known that Nat would call. After all he hand’t replied to her text and she didn’t like to go ignored. He gave the group an apologetic smile and pulled out his phone. He rolled his eyes when indeed _Natasha Romanoff_ was blinking on the screen. He accepted the call and pressed it against his ear. Eight AM class, his ass.

“ _Kakiye_?” He asked, a little annoyed. He pretended to not notice that all eyes were on him. 

“I’m making sure you haven’t died of mortification yet.” She said deadpanned. James chuckled and shook his head.

“Thanks, actually I died two minutes ago.” He said, voice dripping of sarcasm.

“I will hold a beautiful eulogy for you.” She said in the same monotone voice.

“Are you okay?” She continued. James smiled. Natasha with all her flaws, was the most amazing friend he had. Never mind that the competition wasn’t that hard.

“I’m okay. Thank you, Natasha.” He whispered with a small smile.

“Good, text me when you’re resurrected.” She hung up and James shook his head with a sigh. He took in a deep breath and turned back to the group, who were still starring at him. James clicked his jaw and smiled awkwardly. He glanced at Tony who wasn’t, for once talking. And for once, James wished he was. 

“Sorry about that…” He trailed off and noticed that Steve hadn’t stopped looking at him. 

“So, I heard that someone started a dogfight with my roommate.” James said casually, trying to syphon the tension away from the group. Rogers smiled a little bit and nodded, he opened his mouth, but Wilson beat him to it.

“Actually, Stark started a dogfight with us.” James raised his eyebrows and chuckled. He turned to face Wilson, their group felt claustrophobic, but he swallowed down his nerves with a half smile.

“Oh, I wanna hear all about that.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update!

Coming back to America had not been the plan, after his eleven month tour in Afghanistan, stepping foot on American soil again had not felt like coming home. He’d worked as a military advisor for eleven months, working in MAAG he’d earned more than medals. It had improved his leadership skills and he’d learned how it felt like sending young men to their deaths to protect their country. After a sixteen year long carrier in the army, yellow sand and humvees felt more like home than landing at Stewart air national guard base had. Steve had always had a strained relationship with sleep, ever since he’d been a child. He had been eight years old when it started.

He remembered waking up, a woman had been walking into his fifty by sixty feet bedroom in Brooklyn. He’d reached his hand out, almost crying out for help. Then she’d vanished. In front of his eyes. At first he didn’t tell anyone. His eight year old mind dismissing it as a nightmare.

As a freshman in college, sharing a dorm room with another hopeful undergrad, Steve started to have auditory hallucinations. Waking up three in the morning of the of a cat screeching for its life. Or the sound of intruders. Soon after that, the sleep paralysis started.

It felt like he couldn’t breathe, something heavy was weighing down on his chest. Fear would hit in waves. On some psychological level, he’d known that it would pass. The overwhelming sense of fear and temporary loss of control was always the worst part. It was never the fear of the paralysis itself, the fear of losing control for even a second was the worst part. Then, almost overnight, his sleep problems had disappeared when he’d turned twenty-two. Sleeping in tents in the middle of nowhere and resting his head against hard metal in a humvee on a dirt road was usual business. Most of his comrades had nightmares and slept only for a few hours. Steve who rarely slept longer than five hours in a stretch back in New York, would sleep like a baby. When he’d come back to America again, so was his sleep paralysis. Steve didn’t sleep. At least not on a bed. He would sleep on the floor, wishing it was hard rocks so he could sleep peacefully.

His family was the 42nd infantry division. It had been ever since his mobilisation and deployment in Iraq in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom III in 2004. Turning away from his division, his command and his company was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Colonel Fury had said that he’d done his country a great service and coming home was a reward that he should be thankful for. So had his company. So had his first lieutenant. Walking next to coffee shops and Forever21 stores felt like fucking treason.

But Steve knew that he had to go back. If he wouldn’t, and sign up for another tour, he might never be able to readjust into civilian life. Steve knew that it would be impossible to work a office job. For two weeks he’d wondered what he was supposed to do with his time. It felt like a waste. Walking around civilians who didn’t know how it sounded like when a humvee it a M1 mine. It felt alien and he’d never felt so out of place. He’d not stayed in New York for long. Two nights without sleep was enough. Sam who’d retired two tours before him, had advised him to go to Boston. They'd met in 2008 in Kosovo for a joint army and air force operation. They’d stayed in touch ever since. Sam was probably the only person that Steve knew who was a civilian and whom he trusted. He’d stayed at Sam’s for almost two weeks and it felt just as uncomfortable as it had the first night there. Crashing in Sam’s small one room apartment in downtown was temporary. Sam had tried to make Steve go out, socialise and make civilian friends. He’d even gone apartment hunting with him. Steve felt ungrateful, because Sam was trying so hard and Steve still wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay in America. 

It had taken Sam almost a week of constant pestering for Steve to agree to attend the event. Mostly he’d done it out of guilt. Sam had been excited and Steve didn’t want to ruin it for him. Sam had grown up in Boston and went to college in Boston, Steve didn't want to rain on his parade so he'd put on his service uniform and bit the metaphorical bullet. He’d polished his medals and shaved for the first time in days. Steve breathed out deeply and walked into the small kitchen. His campaign medals from Iraq, Kosovo and others clicked against each other with every step, reminding him of what he’d lost and gained in the countless American conflicts he’d fought for.

“Looking good, Cap.” Steve smiled weakly at Sam, who was dressed in his air force service dress. Sam always looked at him with a little concern, he’d been on American soil for almost two years and knew better than anyone how Steve felt. Didn’t make Steve’s conflicting thoughts ease up, but it helped him breathe a little bit easier. 

“Thanks, you too.” Steve cleared his throat and gestured to the door. Sam laughed and they walked out together to the car. Steve was silent on the way to the event. He was usually silent. Making an unexpected sound or talking too loudly could mean giving away their position and in turn, could mean death. Or worse, captivity. 

Steve was still as uncertain about attending the event as when Sam had first mentioned it. He’d grown up in Brooklyn, before hip, new coffee shops had popped up like weeds. Brooklyn was a project growing up and only people who had to, lived there. He wasn’t cut out for cocktail parties or suit and tie events. Growing up, he’d worn second hand clothes before it was a fashion statement. Steve wasn’t involved in politics or knew what was modern. He barley knew how smartphones worked. He felt like someone from another century when they passed an ‘artisan beer brewery’. Steve shook his head and sighed. He’d joined the war on terror without a moment of hesitation. Still, he couldn’t go to a charity event without his heart up his throat. 

Sam understood that and was by his side as they walked through the door. Sam smiled and made small talk to faces Steve didn’t recognise. Steve offered tight smiles and firm handshakes. Easing up bit by bit for every new introduction and every glass of champagne. He managed to hold a conversation with secretary Ross for four minutes and felt ridiculous. The same emotion of accomplishment filled him talking to Ross as managing to fire a headshot did. Sam didn’t ask if he was okay or if needed some air. Sam didn’t need to, because one glance at Steve and Sam knew. He knew how fucking out of place Steve felt by just looking at him. Steve raised his champagne flute in a sarcastic gesture, which to Sam gave him a small smile. Steve almost dropped the flute when he heard his name being called out across the room. He cursed under his breath when he almost on instinct saluted. 

“Shit, is that Howard’s son?” Sam was frowning, looking towards the end of the room, Steve followed his gaze and sighed when he saw Anthony Stark.

“Seems that way.” He muttered. Steve had been friends with Howard Stark, finding him, despite pragmatic, a good man. Steve’s affections didn’t stretch on to Anthony Stark, however. 

“He’s waving us over.” Sam whispered in the same tired tone as Steve’s. Steve spotted Stark. Flushed cheeks and blown eyes, he was intoxicated and loud. 

“And bringing attention to himself.” Steve said and watched how serval of the guests had turned their heads to see what the disturbance was about. 

“Guess we have to say hi.” Steve hummed in regretful agreement. Both of them finished off their drinks and started to weave themselves around the crowd. Their mission; make Stark shut the fuck up. Steve raised one eyebrow when he saw that Stark’s baby sitter was there. James Rhodes and Steve had met briefly in Kosovo and hadn't made much of an impression. Rhodes was five years to Steve’s senior and looked like it too. His uniform was slightly too large and his eyes were wandering, nervous and uncomfortable. Steve was also uncomfortable but he didn't make it as obvious. 

“Mr. Stark.” Sam greeted respectably. Steve could see that Sam was annoyed, but Stark didn’t takeany notice. He gave Sam a quick hug and turned to Steve. 

“Stevie!” Steve gracefully stepped away from the hug and grasped Stark’s hand instead, shaking it quickly. He nodded at Stark with a tight smile.

“Nice to see you again.” He said between clenched teeth. He shook Rhodes’ hand, who still looked like he didn’t want to be there. Steve was silent, listening to Stark prattling off about MIT with Sam. Steve let his eyes wander around the room. He spotted a fewlieutenants and even a handful of majors. His eyes stopped when he saw him. What caught Steve off guard was the clothes. He was dressed like one of the rich children he used to see when walking with his ma on the upper east side. The man’s suit was tailored, showing off his height and lean build. It was in all black, like he was dressed for someone’s funeral. But it was eye catching and stood out among the standard blue ties and white dress shirts. He wasn’t wearing a tie at all. He didn’t notice Steve looking at him, he was starring on a phone screen. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, a wry smile played on his lips. His ruffed hair laid over his forehead and five o’clock shadow gave off the feeling of not giving a damn, yet looking completely comfortable in the setting he was in. His shoulders were relaxed and Stevewas jealous of the ease he was radiating. 

Steve cleared his throat when he saw Stark approach the man he’d been watching. Stark was dressed in a loud tuxedo and who the fuck wears sunglasses indoors? They looked worlds apart. Stark hit the man in the shoulder, playfully. The man, startled put away his phone and sighed at Stark. The feeling was mutual.

“This bore, is James Barnes.” Stark introduced him. Steve could only look on as James Barnes turned to face them. His eyes were surprisingly alert compared to Stark’s dull and tired ones. Steve silently admired how his jaw clenched, showing off hard lines and high cheekbones. A small smile played on his lips and he reached out to shake Sam’s hand. He turned to Steve, offering his hand. Barnes’ grip was firm and friendly, the same smile on his lips. Steve managed to smile back.

“Nice to meet you…” Steve pulled his hand back when he heard a loud ring tone go off. James rolled his eyes and looked apologetic at the interruption. He took out his phone again and glanced at the screen before answering. Steve raised his eyebrows in surprise when he heard a language, that was not english, leave James’ lips. He looked at Sam, mouthing ‘Russian’ at him. Sam understood the silent inquiry and nodded hesitantly. 

James talked in a rapid, quick tone. Laughing and smiling a wider.Steve had always been fascinated with language and the way words rolled off James’ tongue made Steve want to take a step closer. Trying to understand whatever he was saying. James sighed and turned back to them a coy smile on his face, there was a tick in his jaw and he apologised quietly. He glanced at Steve and then quickly looked back.

“So, I heard that someone tried to start a dogfight with my roommate.” Steve didn’t appreciate surprises as much as he did when he was a kid. Finding out that James Barnes was Stark’s roommate was a shock to say the least. James Barnes looked like a Harvard student or the son of a wealthy CEO. Being Stark’s roommate also meant that James Barnes was an undergraduate student. And probably the same age as Stark. Steve swore internally. 

“Actually, Stark started a dogfight with us.” Sam said, cutting off Steve as he for once wanted to speak out. James chuckled and turned to face Sam, in turn, quite literally, giving Steve the shoulder. 

“Oh, I wanna hear all about that.” He said in a playful voice. His smile disappeared when Stark hit him in the chest. James sighed in annoyance and swatted away his hand. Steve and Sam shared an equal look of amusement.

“What are you doing?” Stark asked in a offended tone that wasn’t deserved.

“Socialising, proving my existence.” James drawled. It was some kind of inside joke, because Stark chuckled for half a second before protesting.  


“No, you trying to dig up dirt about me. In front of my face.” He said, deadpanned. He waved a hand in front of his face for empathies. James frowned and turned to face Stark completely.

“Are we seriously discussing personal boundaries?” He asked in disbelief. Steve wanted to ask what kind of stunts Stark had pulled, but James spoke up again.

“Do I have to remind you of the Random Hall incident?” He continued, Stark grimaced.

“And you’re actually showing the dirt to my friends.” He said pointedly, James swatted away Stark’s hand again when he tried to flick James’ shoulder.

“Okay man…” He trailed off and glanced at them, a wary look in his eyes. He cleared his throat and shook his head. James drew a hand through his hair, making it stand up in certain places. Steve tried to avoid starring.

“I’m gonna try to find Clint, he’s probably trying to scale the building or some stupid shit.” He announced and gave Stark a dirty look, who was fixing his bow tie.  


“Are you gonna prevent that?” Rhodes asked with concern. James chuckled. 

“Uh, no. I’m going to film it and put it on Facebook.” He said with a small smile.

“It was nice meeting your friends, Tony.” He gave him a pat on the back and smiled at them, before walking away from their group. Steve looked at Stark who looked like he was trying figure out the best way to rile Steve up. Steve almost wished he’d followed James.

“Since when are we Stark’s friends?” Sam asked quietly in Steve’s ear. He snorted a laugh and shrugged. 

“No fucking clue.” He muttered. Stark made a triumphant sound and pointed an accusing finger at Steve. He copied James’ move and swatted it away.

“No good catholics swear!” Steve wondered how Stark knew that he’d grown up Irish catholic. Steve shook his head and sighed.

“All good catholics are dead catholics.” He said drily. Both Rhodes and Sam chuckled. Small talk ensued once again. Even though the subject was on military vehicles and Steve was an expert on humvees, he only managed to last trough five minutes of it before he announced that he was going for some fresh air. He milled through the drunken, rowdy crowd and sighed in relief when he saw the door. Steve breathed out slowly when fresh, cold air met him. He closed his eyes briefly and took in a deep breath. 

“Did you find you friend?” James gasped in surprise, his hand on his chest and wide eyes. Steve gave him a small smile, which James hesitantly returned. James chuckled and shook his head.

“Uh, no. Honestly I just wanted an excuse to leave…” He said, sounding regretful. Steve raised an eyebrow.

“You seemed pretty at ease.” James laughed, and nodded.

“Well, I appreciate that, I’m not that good at this.” He waved at the building behind him and shook his head again. Steve couldn’t help but laugh. It was somehow easier to open his mouth and let words come out. Because now James and Steve were on equal grounds, both seemingly uncomfortable with what was waiting inside. 

“Would you believe it if I said that I suck at this too?” Steve asked. James looked him up and down with a smirk. Then he shrugged.

“Despite looking like Uncle Sam’s son, I don’t believe it.” Steve grimaced and looked down at his attire. Steve watched as James brought up a cigarette to his lips, taking a deep drag. Steve could almost hear the cracking of the fire, James lips wrapped around the filter tightly. Steve closed his eyes and sighed. 

“Those will kill you.” He said and cleared his throat. James laughed, then coughed when the smoke got into his lungs harshly. 

“You sound like my mom. Or Nat. Both, actually.” Steve raised an eyebrow. 

“Is that a good thing?” James shrugged and took another drag. His cheeks hollowed out and there was a playful grin on his face. it reminded Steve of a world before 9/11. It made him feel nostalgic and almost melancholic. 

“Depends if you like my mom and Nat or not.” He said and flicked the cigarette on the pavement. He dragged a hand through his hair, in a nervous gesture, before he asked;

“What did Stark do?” It was perfectly innocent question, but it made Steve uneasy. Should he tell in vivid detail what Stark had done to him and Steve to Stark, and possibly losing James’ respect? Steve glanced at his feet and then back up.

“It’s complicated.” James grinned.

“It always is. Stark is an ass, so I don’t really need more details, I guess.” He trailed off, frowning into the darkness that surrounded the building. Steve shrugged, but was glad that James had dropped the subject to easily. Steve sighed and didn’t know what to say from there, so he kept his moth shut. One of the things he’d grown accustomed to. James cleared his throat and looked at Steve.

“You’re bothered. What’s bothering you?” The tone was light and trivial, but both of them knew it carried much more weight. Steve tried to shrug it off and turned the focus back to James by saying;

“You’re the MIT student that’s avoiding making small talk to Richard Reeds and you’re asking me what’s wrong?” He tried to divert in a teasing tone. James rolled his eyes and picked up another cigarette. 

“That’s what’s wrong with me, I’m asking what’s wrong with you?” Steve took a deep breath, consequently a deep breath of second hand smoke. Even though he’d grown up asthmatic, smoke didn’t bother him as much. 

“This entire situation.” He said and immediately regretting his words. James didn’t take notice to the seemingly offensive remark and just hummed in agreement.

“I was convinced by a friend that this was big opportunity for me. The same friend who has ditched me, apparently.” James snorted a laugh and sighed. 

“Well you met me at least.” Steve said sarcastically, but James didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm, his delighted reaction made a blush creep up his collar.

“True, those medals has to account for something, right?”

 

“It’s nothing special.” Steve wasn’t trying to fish for compliments or be coy about it. He didn’t think so highly of himself. James laughed.

“That’s lie, and you know it.” Steve shook his head and somehow thought that the blush would disappear with the action. James smiled and it wasn’t a understanding look that was underlined with pity. The look that Sam usually gave him. It was refreshing. 

“James!” Both of them whipped around to see what the source of the sound was. A woman dressed in a pantsuit quickly approached them. Steve’s first thought was unreasonably trying to figure put how she was associated with James. His date? Girlfriend? He noticed her distressed face in second hand. James stepped closer with a frown on his face.

“What did Clint do?” She rolled her eyes and snorted.

“I think it’s rather, what did your roommate do.” She corrected. James groaned loudly. Steve sighed next to him, of course Stark would start more than just one scene tonight. 

“He left, like five minutes ago!” She exclaimed. James frowned.

“We’re standing in the entrance, how the fuck could he leave without me noticing?” He hissed and pointed at the door. The woman laughed, it was tinted with a bitter note.

“He’s a Russian sleeper agent, obviously. Clint is getting a cab. Let’s go.”  She made a gesture towards the driveway and James held up a hand to halt her. Steve slowly walked back to the entrance, feeling out of place.

“Why do _we_ have to go? What did Clint do?” The second question following the first one with rapid pace, an annoyed tone dominating his voice. The woman paused and sighed.

“He may or may not have accidentally started a fight with Ross.” Steve raised his eyebrows and James swore.

“I’m going to kill him.” He stated in a low voice. The woman nodded.

“Someone might beat him to the punch.” She said. Steve wondered how his life had suddenly turned into a sit com show. Because as soon as she said it, a loud howl erupted from the museum. The three of them whipped around as a startled man stumbled out of the building. He was panting hard a shocked but happy expression on his face.

“There you are! We have to go, like right now.” He yelled. Steve frown depend and James gave him a apologetic smile.

“I would say that this usually doesn’t happen, but that would be a lie.” He said. The nameless woman and man started to run towards the yellow cab that was parked on the driveway. They started to shout for James to hurry up and James saluted the middle finger.

“It was nice meeting you Steve.” Too shocked of the entire situation, he couldn’t move as James leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek, a firm grip on Steve’s shoulder and turned his back, running towards the cab. Steve stood still as it drove off, the sound of James laugh echoing in the night. 

Steve swore when somebody ran into his back, he turned and immediately saluted. Secretary Ross dismissed him with a wave and looked furious.

“That little fucker…” He muttered and both of them starred at the car driving away. Steve was too exhausted to ask what the hell just happened. He saluted Ross once more, who didn’t notice it and walked back into the building. Steve clenched his jaw and ignored his burning cheek.

 

One of the earbuds always fell out. The sweat made it slip out of his ear. He pushed it back in, hoping it would stick, continuing to play music. The mini-iPod bounced in his pocket. He hoped it was secure in his pants. He couldn't allow losing it, it was one of his favourite possessions. The thought of dropping it on the pavement made his hands sweat. He palmed the device in his pocket. The pockets were deep, it was safe.

It was an Apple iPod, 2nd generation. It had been a birthday gift. He’d liked it from the start. The minimalistic design and brushed metal had been a seller. But now it was more than just a device. Something bigger. It induced calm. Every time he picked up the iPod, it reminded him of the moments of loneliness. Occasions when the world wasn’t crowding him. When he was allowed to be alone.

He played Marvin Gaye on full volume. It was his way of forgetting, to run to music and feel the tension go away. He floated with the rhythm. Ran in the same beat as the music. He looked at his watch on his left arm to check his time. Every time he went on a run he tried to beat his own record. He had the obsession that every competitive person had. The run was six miles, his best run landing him on thirty-two minutes. He rarely went to the gym to run, perhaps in the winter when ice covered every small road and curb. Otherwise it was always outside.He was running on the east river promenade, along the east river. Frost shone from the water. It was six o’clock and the sun was beginning to show its face. It was late November. The sun was barley touching his back, without providing any warmth. He chased his own long shadow breathing out slowly. The trees had started to get small tree leafs. Wind flowers decorated the path beside him. Along the river he was the only one there. Expensive apartments towered over him to the right. 

He passed large mansion like buildings. Every time he jogged he checked them out, hidden houses behind bushes and fences. He wondered why they tried to be unassuming when everybody knew that no one inconspicuous lived in Cambridge. 

Memories came back to him. He tried to force it back into his head and think about the music instead. Or concentrate on how his feet hit the ground. If he focused on his six mile time run and his even breathing he’d might forget. 

The earbuds played trouble man.

On the curb was dog shit.

They thought that they could use him as they liked. But it was him who used them. That mindset protected him. He chose himself what to feel and do. In the official world they were successful, rich, powerful men. Their names adorned economics attachments, exchange news tickers and Forbes magazine. In reality they were pathetic and greedy. But this was not a well kept secret. His future was uncertain. He would continue to play the part until it fit to break character and unveil them. It was a dangerous game. He knew the rules, if it went wrong it could mean the end of a barrel. 

Steve made a turn into Amherst Street. He was out of breath when he reached his door at 100 Memorial Drive. He looked at his watch. Thirty-nine minutes, two minutes longer than yesterday. He clenched his jaw and turned the key. The apartment was a one bedroom $2,764 monthly rent shoebox in an apartment complex.

It was small and uncomfortable. The view from the bedroom and living room window was a empty street and the Charles River. The kitchen was approximately ten square meters and a shower was shoved next to the unused stove. The kitchen table was also worked as the couch table. The bed took up most of the space and the wardrobe was non existent.

His apartment had four things in it; a bed, a gun, a coffee-maker, and a toilet. If there’s more to it, he didn't bother to find out. When he kicked the door shut behind him, it already smelled stale; of dust and take-out bags left out to go stiff. His skin went clammy instantly, sticky and uncomfortable with sweat. He dropped his keys on his jacket by the door and stomps over to the bed without taking off his shoes. The sheets were dirty and mussed, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Crisp white linens reminded him of a time he could not go back to. He’d decided to move out of Sam’s only two weeks ago. Mostly because he felt like he was intruding. Especially when Sam had dates. The move into the apartment, even though it didn’t feel like a home, made things more permanent. He still lived off his army pension, it was enough for now, but he knew that he needed to get a job soon. Sam had pestered him in the early days, calling him and visiting almost everyday. He worried too much. Steve had decided to try to blend into the society he’d abandoned at 21. Going out to shopping centres, not buying anything, but observing. It felt almost the same as scoping out a new military base. The weak spots and possible emergency exits. It was pathetic how he couldn’t just let go of his old life.

Outside the window the city was beginning to wake up and it was just starting to rain. There was a restless itch under his skin, and he knew he could only keep fighting it down for so long. Across from the bed, in his garbage dump a cheap substitute for a closet, there was a large white box. It was filled with images and books. He wondered why he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out yet.

He changed into a white t-shirt and tried to keep his thoughts at bay and not let them wander to off to brown hair and the colour red. He walked out of the door, and stepped out into the street. He had more confidence walking into a mine field that he did now.

It was a Saturday, a lot of people were out and about. Families and couples. He couldn’t help but smile, that was one thing he missed when he was in the army. The easy and relaxed way people carried themselves. In the army, everyone was on edge, ready for a fight at any moment. Watching others didn’t help his own anxieties, but he was glad on their behalf. Almost jealous, they didn’t know how precious what they had was. He looked at his phone, it was new. Brand new, head taken off the protective plastic only yesterday. Sam had insisted and stated that his Nokia was a relic not a functioning device. It was the first smartphone he’d ever owned and he was confused by just looking at it. Touch screens had never been effective. Because of thick gloves and terrible weather conditions, something as delicate as touch screens were a poor device to use in the field. A pedestrian sidewalk was not a hostile military zone. Sam had installed various applications, Steve had no idea what they were, but Sam had promised a crash course in social media. He only had a few numbers in his phone, but still it buzzed constantly. Steve looked down at the screen. Notifications form various newspapers blinked on the screen. Steve put it back in his pocket.

Steve cursed the new, modern world that he’d willingly re-entered. Because a black coffee shouldn’t cost five bucks. Even though it tasted better than the tar they served in metal cups in the mass hall, it was not worth it. He walked into the subway station, Steve didn’t have a particular destination in mind. He just wanted to get used to his new environments. He sat down on the hard plastic, which was far more comfortable than he was used to. He sighed and picked up his phone again, it was still buzzing. Steve wasn’t involved in current news and didn’t have a need for it, so he put it down, starring ahead.

“Steve Rogers!” Steve almost dropped the coffee in his lap. He turned his head and watched as the man approached with clumsy steps, the subway car moving side to side.

“James Barnes?” Steve squinted his eyes as he sat down next to him with a heavy sigh. James cleared his throat and pulled a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, uh, we met at Harvard.” He said. Steve smiled, he couldn’t forget the fight between Ross and the unknown man, a story that still lacked background. 

“I remember.” James smiled too, but he looked nervous for some reason.

“You look different.” Steve looked down at his beige chinos and leather jacket. Suppose he did. Steve nodded and gestured towards James.

“So do you.” James was no longer in a fitted suit, but black jeans and a thick black coat. A hoodie in the same colour was starting to fall off his eyes. James chuckled.

“Yeah, Tony, um, he’s responsible for the high fashion image I can’t uphold.” Steve grimaced at Stark’s name and hoped that James didn’t notice, he was Stark’s roommate after all.

“You look good, don’t worry.” It must have been because of the cool air that James’ cheeks were tinted pink. James bounced his leg up and down, clearing his throat again. It was endearing. Steve had been convinced that James was confident and sure of himself when they’d first met. But it seemed like he was just as nervous as Steve.

“Where are you headed?” Steve felt his heart stop. He wasn’t so out of touch to being obvious how weird it would be if he just answered ‘No idea.’ So he glanced up at the subway map and said the first station that he spotted. 

“Park station.” James smiled.

“No shit, I’m going there too.”

“What are you doing there?” Steve asked to steer the conversation away from him. James shrugged.

“Fine arts museum.” Steve raised an eyebrow. James gave him a look.

“What.” Steve chuckled and looked down at his lap. He took a sip of coffee, hoping it looked casual and natural.

“No, it’s just that most MIT guys don’t go to museums, that’s all.” James snorted a laugh and mirrored Steve’s raised eyebrow.

“You know many MIT guys?” He asked in a light tone, but it was underlined with something else, accusatory, something that could be called jealousy. But Steve took another sip of the still boiling coffee laughed.

“Not really…” He said with a half smile. Steve wondered since when it was easy for him to strike up conversation and keep it going. Most of the time he preferred silence, talking to James on a subway in Massachusetts was the lats thing he’d thought he was going to do. The fact that he rarely practiced the art of talking might have something to do with it. James looked up and stood up, Steve gave him a slight confused look.

“You coming?” Steve squinted his eyes a little. James rolled his eyes.

“This is park station.” He said and pointed at the subway doors just as the train was slowing down. Steve rewinded the conversation and cleared his throat.

“Oh.” He said lamely and walked up to James. They stepped out of the subway, letting other civilians in, while they stepped to the side. James had his hands deep in his pockets and Steve was looking around, a little clueless. 

“So… I was thinking of going to the museum of art too, mind if I join you?” Steve had no idea where the fuck he found his courage to ask but he was glad that he did. James smiled brightly and nodded.

“Not at all.” Steve followed James, because he had no idea how to get to the museum, he had no idea where it was. James didn’t take notice. He almost wanted to text Sam in victory that he wasn’t going to spend another day alone. He didn’t, James was starting conversation again and it seemed rude to pick up a phone. 

“You don’t look like an art guy either, by the way.” James said as the sat down on the subway going to Heath street. Steve chuckled.

“I am, an art guy I guess.” He said and downed the rest of his coffee. After a moment of contemplation he added;

“Before the army I was _the_ art guy.” He said. James raised both eyebrows, clearly interested. Steve didn’t have another choice than to elaborate.

“I was an AAP student at Cornell before.” James whistled a long note and nodded.

“Impressive.” Steve shrugged it off.

“Not really. I’m a college drop out.” He said and couldn’t help the bitter tone in his voice. James tilted his head.

“Why?” He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Not that it’s any of my business.” Steve shrugged. He didn’t mind sharing his history. It was just that not many were interested in it. 

“Nine eleven happened and… Well, I’m a New Yorker and I took it personally.” Steve said. James bit the inside of his cheek and nodded.

“Shit man, that’s heavy…” Steve shrugged. He didn’t know how civilians usually reacted to reason why he joined the army. When he’d enlisted, he hadn’t told anyone. It wasn’t like it was anyone important to tell it to. At the time, it was a good idea. The only logical one. But after over ten years of conflict, he wondered where he would be in life if he hadn’t gone to Times Square that day.

“I wasn’t the only one.” Steve said.

“I used to live in New York. But we moved back to Russia right after nine eleven.” James shared. Steve frowned. They must have left New York around the same time.

“Where in New York?” James smirked. 

“The best borough of course. Brooklyn, born and raised.” He said, the James’ smile dropped after a second.

“You’re not from Jersey are you?” Steve laughed. Hard. It was a rumbling sound that left his throat without permission. Steve shook his head.

“Don’t worry, I’m from Brooklyn.” James bright smile was blinding. They started to talk about growing up in New York. They found out that they used to live in the same area, just under different times. If they had been the same age, they had most likely gone to the same school. They shared the same favourite pizza spots, where the true New York one dollar slices were sold. They sounded like pretentious New Yorkers that loathed the Upper East side. In a way they were. When James said that he’d never gone to a off Broadway show, Steve had gasped in mock offence. It was too easy talking to James. Maybe because they shared mirroring history in Brooklyn. The shared instances was almost ridiculous. They walked together to the museum, James offered Steve a cigarette. Which he declined to, but he was just as transfixed on James’ mouth as before. Both sighed in relief when they were met with hot air as they walked into the museum. James showed his student ID, while Steve paid for his admission. The price was laughably high, but he took out his wallet anyway.

The conversation flowed without disruption and Steve found it too easy. Frighteningly so. Maybe it was because James was oblivious to what Steve had done. Maybe it was because Steve wanted to get to know him. In any case, they had moved on, talking about the art instead. Steve had almost forgotten his passion for the arts. Fine paintings and renowned artists had no place in Iraq. Steve felt melancholic passing Monet and O’Keefe works. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t miss it. He missed the bliss of forgetting his surroundings and give into the smell of oil paints and blank canvas. He hadn’t painted or drawn anything since he enlisted.

“I don’t really care for art.” James admitted as they had stopped in front of a Munch painting. Steve gave him a questioning look.

“I don’t understand it most of the time.” Steve chuckled.

“You don’t always have to understand it to appreciate it.” James squirmed a little.

“My friend Natasha loves fine art. One of the reasons I went here. I wanna understand how she sees things…” He trailed off and turned an intense look to the painting. Steve looked as well and said;

“What do you think of this one?” It was a Edvard Munch self-portrait with a cigarette. Munch was a favourite for Steve. The way he portrayed his mental illness and fears resonated almost too much for Steve. James sighed loudly.

“Whatever I say will sound stupid. I’m a MIT guy.” It was a poor excuse and James knew it too, he winced and looked uncomfortable. Steve cleared his throat and remembered his analysis classes at Cornell. Skills and knowledge that he hadn’t been required to use for years.

“I love this painting.” He said with a sigh. James turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“The cigarette used to be a sign of the lower class during the 19th century. It was symptomatic of society’s degeneration. At that time cigars was what symbolic for the wealthy socialites. Edvard Munch was considered corrupting the arts influence on society by smoking a cigarette and so associating the upper class with the lower class. Much moved away from the naturalism of his predecessors and displayed his own psyche and recored subjective experiences. He uses the dissolution of the cigarette to signal the intersection between bohemian life, mental illness and art. He encoded the cigarette as a complex symbol through which he asserted his complex identity and created a site of recognition for those who suffer today. It’s a timeless piece really, and it resonates with people who suffer from the same problems as Much did.” Steve flushed, embarrassed by showing off and sounding pretentious. He had went off on a tangent and it seemed like when he started talking about art, he couldn’t stop. Just like in his college days. Steve, shook his head and hesitantly turned to face James.

James was starring at him with a slightly open mouth.

“Wow, you should work as a curator here.” Steve laughed, still embarrassed.

“As much as I don’t understand it, I think that I can appreciate it more.” James said with a half smile, looking at the painting. 

“After all I am the sign of the lower class.” He continued and waved his pack of cigarettes in front of Steve’s face. Steve laughed, James joining him after a moment. 

“I think that cigarettes are just a sign of lung cancer nowadays.” James playfully hit Steve’s shoulder and chuckled. They continued walking around the various galleries, Steve didn’t feel as embarrassed letting his passion for art show. James seemed genuinely interested, asking questions and making his own observations. They weren’t as in depth or thought out as Steve’s, but Steve hung onto every word.

Steve lost track of time, it went too fast. He was used to waiting, every minute feeling like an hour, and every hour feeling like a decade. But James talked with animated hands, discussing his passion for engineering and science. Steve comparing technology design to modern art. The conversation shifting between them like a tennis match. They decided to take a late lunch together at a Mexican place a block away. Steve mentioning food when he heard James stomach rumble, after James had mortifyingly dismissed it they had walked into the restaurant. 

“This is disgusting.” James said and wiped grease off his finger with a napkin. Both had ordered burritos with extra onion. James gave it a look as if it had betrayed him. Steve chuckled.

“When you’ve lived off MRE’s for ten years, everything that wasn’t cooked in a bag tastes good.” Steve said, James gave him a blank look.

“Dude, I’m a undergrad on a scholarship, everything I eat comes in a plastic container.” He said and winced at the overcooked beans. Steve chuckled.

“I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘dude’ before.” It was true, it was either ‘Sir’ or ‘Cap’ when it came to addressing him. James smirked.

“Sorry, sir.” Steve closed his eyes and crossed his legs. James playfully wiggled his eyebrows and a suggestive smile. Steve groaned.

“You’re actually twelve years old.” He stated in a dry tone, ignoring the heat in his stomach. James laughed.

“Nat told me that I’m in fact neither a genius or twelve.” Steve frowned.

“Who’s Nat?” He couldn’t help his snappy tone. James cleared his throat.

“Uh, she’s my best friend.” 

“Was it the girl at Harvard?” James blinked and was quiet for a second before he frowned.

“Kate? No. Kate is on the same floor as me. Natasha lives in Russia.” Steve connected the dots, he would’t forget that phone conversation in a long time. He still wondered what had been said. Even though James had said ‘best friend’ he couldn’t help but think possible girlfriend. His wry smile and nostalgic look remained Steve of himself during his last relationship.

“Was it hard, moving back here?” Steve asked, changing the subject. James thought it over for a second and sighed.

“I guess, my mom didn't want me to move. I didn’t have any friends moving back to the states. I’d never been to Massachusetts before. But I’ve always wanted to go to MIT and Nat was moving to Moscow. It felt inevitable.” Steve nodded slowly. He related far too much to the uncertainty in James’ voice. 

“Why did you leave the army?” James winced.

“Sorry, I’m tactless today.”

“No it’s fine.” Steve said even though it wasn’t. It was one of the subjects that consumed every waking moment in Steve’s life and he found that he didn’t have a good answer to James’ question. So he let the question drop. For the first time, awkward silence filled the air. Steve cleared his throat, James glanced at the door. Steve closed his eyes for a moment.

“I should go. Finals coming up.” James said suddenly. Steve let James stand up and shrug on his coat, feeling too awkward to suggest anything. 

“Of course.” Steve shrugged on his jacket, following James to the door.

“I had a good time today.” Steve wrinkled his nose. It sounded like the end of a disastrous date back in his college days. Steve hummed in agreement and they looked at each other for a moment, neither knowing exactly how to act.

“Give me your phone.” Steve raised his eyebrows.

“You’re a horrible thief.” He said, but took out his phone. James rolled his eyes.

“I’m giving you my number, you sassy punk.” He muttered and worked Steve’s phone effortlessly. Long fingers tapping quickly on the screen. James gave the phone back with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll see you around.” James said, Steve nodded. 

“I’m sorry, by the way. It wasn’t any of my business.” Steve shrugged.

“It’s okay. Really. I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He said quickly. Steve clenched his jaw and had just said something that he hand’t even said to Sam yet. It was moronic and unbelievable. James nodded and looked understanding, almost too understanding. They parted ways, after an awkward side hug that made Steve cringe. James was taking the subway back, and because Steve wanted to avoid any stale shared trips back, he opted to walk.

He listen to old jazz albums while walking back via Hemenway street. His iPod volume on max. It took him forty minutes to trek back. Feeling exhausted when he twisted the key in the door. He closed the door behind him, replying in snail pace to Sam’s numerous text messages. He smiled when Sam was in complete disbelief that Steve had actually made a civilian friend. Texting Steve profusely. Steve opened James’ text and chuckled when he saw that he’d put his contact name as ‘Lower class Brooklynite’. He’d just written a simple ‘Hello.’ Steve bit the inside of his cheek. He had no idea if it was sociably acceptable to text back the same day anymore. Steve had lacked social abilities at Cornell and still did. Steve groaned loudly and wondered how his life suddenly became so much more complicated. 

He put away his phone and walked into the bedroom. He starred at the white box that he hadn’t gotten rid of yet. He thought about the fine arts museum. He thought back to his first set of graphite pencils. He thought about his ma. He thought about the curve of James’ smile. He thought about the endless sand dunes surrounding him. He thought about September ninth, 2001, 9PM. He thought about his service uniform in the back of his closet.

With a deep breath Steve reached out and took out the box, hidden under clothes. He slowly lifted the lid and sighed at the contents. The material was well used and had been loved. He picked up the latest sketch book that he’d bought, flipping to the last page. He let himself go. Allowing himself to cry. There was no one to hear him sob uncontrollably. He starred at the portrait of Peggy Carter and it reminded him why he’d gone to Times Square a week after the attacks. One day after her funeral. He thought about the tours, bootcamp, cramped spaces and automatic guns. He was caught in the past and his motivations was in the past. Steve felt like he should have learned to move on after the countless bodies he’d seen. 

Steve wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. He carefully flipped the page. Blank white paper starred back at him. He reached into the box. The pencil felt unfamiliar to him, like a foreign object. Steve leaned back on the wall and was motionless for serval minutes, only breathing slowly. The sound of graphite scratching against paper filled his ears, it felt like homecoming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that Munch's work is located at the national gallery in Oslo, but I thought it was fitting in the story.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh this chapter sucks, please don't hate me

Cramming half a semesters lectures overnight before the final exam, was without a doubt, the worst thing that James had ever done. He used to be meticulous with his study routine. It had almost become a drug during high school. But then he'd moved to the States and started college. And everything had changed. More specifically, the fact that he'd gotten friends. In Russia, his only true friend had been Natasha. Since she'd worked just as much as James, getting studying hours in hadn't been a problem. But because Clint fucking Barton was intent on "winging" his entire undergraduate experience, James did not study three hours a day anymore. Because Clint fucking Barton had held his birthday party on the 5th of December, right before James' maths final, James was going to be positively hungover during the four hour exam.

He hadn't stayed at the party for long. Maybe for three hours before Tony had mentioned off-hand the vital final coming up the next day. Tony had with that one sentence, invoked panic in the ten undergrads surrounding him. Of course, Tony was careless with the exam, claiming that he would get a 100%, even without studying. Because Tony hadn't been suspended or kicked out yet, James believed him. James had rushed back to B2, wondering how he'd forgotten about the exam completely. He poured over his lecture notes, that made no sense in his rushed handwriting. Maybe it didn't make any sense because James was so drunk that he couldn't even look at the bare doorframe in his dorm without giggling. James swore loudly, cursing MIT, Clint fucking Barton and himself. James closed his eyes for a second and felt his head spin. He snapped his eyes open when he heard his phone go off. He should have had it on silent, another habit that had gone down the drain. James couldn't help his ridiculous grin when he saw it was from Steve.

_are you drunk?_

James may or may not given into the second worst thing possible; drunk texting. James swore when he dropped his phone on the floor. He slowly bent down and picked it up, breathing heavily. James took a deep breath and starred at his phone, pressing down on the four digit code. After four tries, it displayed the message app. James grinned in victory.

_a little, the idea of failure is sobering me up_

James deleted and went back serval times to make sure that the text wasn’t riddled with grammar mistakes. James sent it and leaned back in his chair. The grads going downhill may have something to do with Steve Rogers. They’d known each other for about a month, which wasn’t very long, but James found himself texting Steve about his existential crisis first, rather than Nat. 

_Don’t you have a final tomorrow?_

James smiled despite himself. He couldn’t remember telling Steve about his exam at that moment, but Steve proved himself to care enough to remember trivial things like that. That was one of the reasons why he drunk texted Steve before Nat. 

_Yea, which is why im not hooking up with leather jacket guy right now_

When James was intoxicated he lacked a verbal filter. James groaned loudly. Oh God, when he’s drunk he became Tony Stark. James starred at his current equation problem for a few seconds, wondering if he actually had learned anything in class. The numbers and letters didn’t make any sense. After another moment he looked down at his phone. James frown got deeper. No reply from Steve. He bit his lip, maybe he’d crossed a line. James wasn't sure what numerous text exchanges and two meet ups equated relationship wise. James scrolled up the message thread and was sobering up with every text he read. The Read tick next to James’ last message was glaring at him.

James clicked his jaw and tried to convince himself that didn’t matter. Screw what Steve thought of him. Just as he was going to turn back to his math problem, which actually mattered more than the Steve problem, his phone alerted him of a new message. 

James only deflated a little bit when he saw that it was message from Nat.

_u up?_

It was followed up with an eggplant emoji and a camera emoji. James rolled his eyes and replied, even though his focus should lie else where. 

_yes. and no, i wont send u nudes for u to evaluate_

James wrote back in english. Somehow their almost religious ritual of writing in Russian had also gone downhill. Nat with her meticulous routines and strict upbringing had just let it pass, replying in English. 

_that was one time_

James sighed and started to send her screenshots of the conversation he had with Steve, along with his worries. James was grateful it wasn't snapchat, but then again, he wasn’t even sure that Steve had a snapchat, nor if he even knew what it was. Even though it was five in the morning in Moscow, Nat replied after a few seconds.

_maybe he’s a homophobe_

James grimaced. It was the last thing he wanted Nat to write, but he also wanted to be faced with the possible fact that Steve was a bigot. In which case, he was fucked. He had thought about it before. Not just about Steve, but with all his friends. America was certainly not as ignorant as Russia, but there’s always people who refuse to open their eyes. James didn't cover up who he was attracted to, but he didn't really announce it either. Come to think of it, he hadn't mentioned his sexuality at all to his friends. The only person who knew that he was gay was Nat. Coming out to her was very anticlimactic. She’d just shrugged and stated that they should grab lattes and check out boys together. James had been sixteen at the time. His family didn’t know. His dad was not very liberal and his mother adored her Russian heritage and traditions. James wasn’t brave enough to even mention it. 

_i dont think so_

He replied with hesitant, slow fingers. Digits hoovering over the keyboard, wanting to add more, but who was to say that Steve wasn’t? James didn’t know Steve. Sure they texted almost everyday, but it was usually about the new Americana and how ridiculous Steve found social media to be. Movies and about art. About James classes and about languages. They hadn’t reached political subjects or even snarky, playful remarks to each other. James hand’t even made a Trump joke yet. Which was saying a lot. 

_idk, he’s an army guy right?_

_which makes him automatically a homophobe?_

James replied after a beat. 

_just ask him if he’s okay w homosexual ppl and if he says no, he's not a person u should talk to._

Nat was brutal. She was always honest with James and he knew that she was right. The thought of actually asking Steve that, no matter how crass, made James’ stomach churn. Still there was no reply from Steve. If Steve wasn’t okay with him being gay, James should just let him go. He knew that. James let out a small scream into his hand in frustration. Moving to America had made his life infinitely harder.

James starred at the celling. The celling must have been white at some point. It had turned brown of grease and lack of cleaning. A few undergrads were rustling around in the living area, making some kind of food. He hadn’t texted Steve the ultimate make or break question last night. He hadn’t produced enough courage to type out a fucking text message. Steve hadn’t wrote anything back either. However how much over thinking the Steve problem churning out worryingly high levels of anxiety did. His calculus final was even worse. Sitting in the auditorium for several hours, mind completely blank, he's sure that he’d fucked his final up beyond saving. He’d almost had a panic attack handing the prominently answer free exam in. He’d shared his almost panic attack incident with Nat, who’d called him, reassuring him that he wasn’t going to get suspended for one failed exam. It hadn’t made him feel better at all, not even thinking the possibility of getting kicked out.

“How did the final go?” James replied in a dry voice, saying to Sammi to fuck off. She’d chuckled and went back to talking to the rest of 233F. James glanced at Tony when he threw himself next to him on the couch. Tony, thankfully, didn't ask him how the exam went. Instead he started to pitch him an idea of a AI programme, which James listened to with a half a ear. Tony only noticed James disinterest after five minutes, glancing at James’ phone. 

“What’s up?” He asked and starred at James and Nat’s text exchange. Which was one sided, Nat was sending him serval pictures of cats. With no context. 

“I think Nat is getting a cat.” James replied slowly with a frown. He was almost certain that the Bolshoi didn’t accept pets in their housing halls. Tony snorted a laugh.

“Fuck, that’s pathetic.” James turned off his phone and gave Tony a look. James rolled his eyes and ignored Tony’s insult. He turned back to his phone, opening Steve’s contact. Still no reply. That fucking read tick was starting to piss James off. He hesitantly started to type out Nat’s suggested question, all though be it not as straight forward. After going back and deleting serval times, he clicked his jaw and turned to Tony, who was also on his phone.

“You know Steve?” He started off. Tony cocked an eyebrow. James closed his eyes for a second.

“Steve Rogers?” Tony nodded slowly, a smirk forming on his face. James sighed, he bit the bullet and asked Tony, the last person he’d though he’d ask.

“Do you know if he’s a homophobe?” If Tony’s trademark was eccentric crassness, surely he wouldn’t mind when someone used it against him. Tony smirked wider and laughed. He fucking laughed in his face. James groaned and started to get up, regretting even mentioning Steve’s name. Tony pulled him down into the couch again and shook his head.

“Steve Rogers a homophobe? You’re joking right?” He asked in disbelief. James sighed loudly, not finding it as funny as Tony did.

“Okay, forget that I ever asked.” 

“Steve Rogers is probably the least homophobic dude in the U.S army.” James frowned and was quiet for a few seconds. 

“How do you know?” James wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer to that question. Tony smiled and started to get up.

“Trust me, he’s not a homophobe.” With that, Tony left. Leaving James, if even possible, more confused than ever. Trusting Tony Stark’s word when it came to anything, was a big risk game. Tony had however, become someone James considered a friend. Sure he was insane, but Tony seemed to like James and James didn’t mind most of the shit Tony was pulling. Trusting what Tony said was another point completely. James starred at the celling for another few seconds before tucking his phone into his pocket and going to his dorm. The dorm was still missing its door. The window wasn't fixed yet and one of the walls had a hole in it, James was too tired to mention the new addition to Tony, who was starring at a computer screen. 

Since he had a final earlier that day, the rest of the day was free. He’d already made plans with Kate and Clint. At three in the afternoon the three of them walked to Fort Washington park. Even though it was winter they had decided to buy overpriced coffee and take a walk in the park. It was not as boring as Clint had at first made it sound to be. After twenty minutes in the park, Clint had already pounced on two dog owners, asking if he could pet them. It was something hilarious about a 6’3 tall man cooing and hugging strangers dogs in the snow. James’ shitty camera phone couldn’t quite capture the scene. Kate was standing by the side, shaking her head. They slowly walked around in the park, sipping on luke warm coffee and taking pictures. James loved winter. It reminded him of St.Petersburg and long walks with Nat. Even though they called each other everyday without fail, he missed her. He missed being able to just barge into her room, and just sit next each other, enjoying her company in silence. 

James had no plans to go back to Russia for the holidays. With no job and near to no funds left, he had regretfully told her that he wasn't able to visit like they’d planned. Nat was busy with the Nutcracker and Cinderella to even consider flying to the States. James didn’t have any plans in America either, probably spending his two week break alone in his dorm was a possibility that was starting to seem inventible. James looked at Clint, who was talking to yet another started dog owner as a distraction. James watched as the lady hesitantly let Clint pet her golden retriever. After a minute of stale silence and the dog panting loudly, they started to walk again. Kate was arguing with Clint, saying that he couldn’t just attack every dog with cuddles that they crossed path with. Clint said that all dogs needs cuddles. James was thinking that Clint was probably just touch starved. James certainly was. 

James pulled his thin black coat tighter around himself. The coat was missing two buttons and the seems were fraying, but it had cost him two dollars and thirty cents, so he was fine with that. James had never had assets of any significance before. Of course he’d held down a few jobs he had to fight tooth and nail to keep before, when the student loans numbers never seemed to get any lower and the choice between skipping a meal or pay back the money was a easy choice.

To be fair, its not easy for anyone to try to cover a 50k debt because it seemed a good idea to go to MIT without a full scholarship at the time. Even though he’d worked at a small corner shop for five years straight, it wasn’t enough in one of the most expensive parts in Massachusetts.

The point was, he was used to living just a bit short. Has always lived just a bit short. Not to put too fine a point on it, too young and still too flush with his own brilliance to contemplate a future in which living just a bit short might be a serious problem. He knew that he needed to get a job. But offering up a nineteen year old with near to none work experience a part time job was just as impossible to win the lottery. Even though James hand’t handed out his resume to anyone, he knew with a 4.1 precent unemployment rate, anyone with a sense of logic wouldn't consider hiring James. So he wrapped his threadbare scarf tighter and clenched his fists for warmth. Asking his mother for money equated to a one way ticket back to Russia. His mother had always been reluctant to let James move back to America. After assuring her that he could make by himself, she’d let him. Safe to say, if MIT didn’t pan out, ma would embrace him with, though be it, cold arms. She valued independence above everything else. In her eyes, James had left the nest and was an adult who didn’t need his mother’s help anymore. A small part of him considered to sell the suit that Tony had given him. It must be worth at least a few hundred bucks and it had only been worn once. Just thinking it felt like an insult against Tony. 

James clenched his jaw and looked at Kate and Clint who were squabbling over something trivial as usual. He wasn't sure how they became so close, they seemed to fight constantly. James sighed and missed Nat. She would know what to do. She always had a plan and her education was at least paying back. James swore internally when he spotted them. It was without a doubt them. Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers were jogging. Down their path, dressed in tight pants and t-shirts. James looked down, not wanting to make eye contact. It was awkward. It had somehow became unbearably awkward. Just as James though he was in the clear, Steve stopped. James swore under his breath.

“Hi!” James looked up from the snow covered ground with a uncertain smile, Steve’s bright one blinding him.

“Oh, hey.” He said after clearing his throat. He noticed that both Kate and Clint had turned to look at them with wide eyes. Sam was politely standing to the side.

“How are you?” Steve asked. James nodded and managed to answer.

“Good, thanks, how are you?” 

“Good, good. What about you?” James squinted his eyes a little. The conversation was going stale with every word.

“Good, I said.” James said, his voice tinted with confusion. Steve grimaced.

“… Uh, good.” He got out a beat too late. A silence fell over them. James bit the inside of his cheek and looked up at the grey sky, wishing that Clint was annoying a dog owner, or Tony blowing up their window. Anything but standing in a suspended vacuum of silence with Steve Rogers. James cleared his throat and dug in his pocket for a cigarette. His hands almost shaking. He offered Steve one, which he declined, making James feel like an idiot. He almost dropped it and was groaning internally when he lighter refused to work. 

Steve hesitantly reached forward, James looking at him with a confused face. Steve carefully cupped a hand around the cigarette, lighting it effortlessly. James mumbled a thanks and put the lighter back into his jean pocket. He took a deep drag and looked at Steve. He knew he was supposed to say something, anything. But just like during the exam, his mind went blank.

“Sorry for not replying yesterday, I forgot to-“

“No, it’s fine. I can’t expect you to text back every time, right?” James cut off. Both wanting to talk about the text and not. Because really, he nearly asked if he was a homophobe over text, who does that? Steve smiled a little and shook his head.

“I like talking to you. So, how did the final go?” It wasn’t Steve’s fault. Of course it wasn’t. How could he know that just mentioning it would prompt a wave of anxiety. Instead James chuckled bitterly.

“Shit.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you were some kind of genius.”

“Not really, I’m just good at pretending that I am.” James said with a half smile. Thankfully that the mortifying silence was melting away. Steve chuckled, it was loud and almost startling. James couldn’t help but smile.

“I was meaning to ask you if you wanted to grab a coffee or-“ Steve cut himself off, grimacing.

“And you already have one.” He said, pointing at James’ empty coffee cup. James looked down at it, having forgotten that he had one. James shook his head.

“Coffee sounds great.” 

“Good.” Steve said, James smiled. Steve looked adorably happy, a wry smile on his face. James glanced at their friends, who were trying not to be obvious. Sam was smirking, the twins giggling and probably discussing how hot Steve was. Not that James was disputing that.

“I just have to get changed.” Steve started off and James whipped around to face him again. Steve gestured to his far too tight clothes and James tried to not check him out. James cleared his throat.

“Of course, I have to get back and leave the kids.” He said with a pointed look at Clint and Kate. Who both saluted the middle finger at the same time. Sam and Steve chuckled.

“I’ll text you.” James said, making it sound like a question almost. Steve nodded in agreement.

“And I’ll actually reply this time.” With a final smile Steve and Sam jogged along and James turned. Kate and Clint were starring at him with high eyebrows. James gave them a stern look and a pointed finger at them.

“Not a fucking word.”

 

After debating with the twins if the coffee thing with Steve was a coffee date and or a coffee bro meet up the entire way back to Burton-Conner, James felt exhausted. Both of them had insisted that it was in fact, a date. Which made James stress out about his own attire, not that he had much to choose from. Clint and Kate had also asked how they’d met, James giving them a watered down version. After that, they’d asked if James was into Steve. James had replied with a sly, maybe. Then they’d asked with James wanted to hook up with Steve.

James had told both of them that they could fuck off. 

He ran back into his dorm room, if it wasn’t for the missing door, he’d probably had run into it. He was texting Nat, in panic. Because the more he’d talked to the twins and thought over his agreement with Steve, the more it sounded like a date in his head. James wasn't ready to date. 

He’d never dated anyone. In Russia it was next to impossible to date people after James’ preference, which was men. That had made James’ list of dates a prompt zero. He wasn’t going to risk coming out in Russia, the consequences being too dire. It had also made sure that his dating experience wasn’t that good, or even existent. Nat was not replying, and he wasn’t going to get angry about it, she was probably in class. He knew too well that phones were forbidden in ballet class. James swore loudly, thankful that Tony was no where to be seen. He rushed into the bathroom, splashing cold water over his face. His hadn't hoovered over the shaving blade and then decided to against it. Homeless chic was a thing in the 90’s so hopefully it was going to work now. James knew that it was irrational to stress about it. It wasn't a date. It wasn’t. The mantra replaying in his head, trying to convince himself. He swallowed a pain killer dry, his hangover hadn’t dissipated yet. 

It wasn’t a date.

It wasn’t a date.

It was maybe a date.

The spontaneous museum was not a date, was it? He fucking hoped it hadn't been. That day he hadn’t even planned to go to the fine arts museum. He’d just spit it out in hope to sound a little more cultured. He couldn’t say that he was going to meet his dealer at Park station. James wanted to ask Steve if it was a date, which was the logical thing to do.

But then again, he wasn’t even sure if Steve liked men. James wasn't even sure that Steve liked James. Maybe he’d just suggested coffee to be polite and James didn’t get the message. He didn’t know Steve that well, he didn’t even know how old he was. Maybe Steve saw him as a brother or some shit like that. He groaned loudly and picked up his phone. Instead of asking if it was a date, he asked if they could meet at a bakery a ten minute walk away from campus. Steve did reply this time asking if 4PM was good. Mindlessly, James had replied yes. It was twenty to four. 

James threw on his coat again, opting for fingerless gloves as well. He walked past Clint and Kate in the living area on his way to the stairs. Both of them cheered loudly and Kate even threw him a condom. James rolled his eyes to cover up his nerves and threw it back in her face. She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. James smiled when he realised that it had started to snow again. He walked slowly to Amherst ally, sucking on his last cigarette. Steve was already waiting outside the cafe when James arrived. He swallowed down his nerves with a shy smile and there was an awkward moment of wondering how to greet each other. After a beat too long, Steve gave him a side hug. James should be squeezing back, but he could only focus on how warm Steve was. 

They walked into the cafe, Steve immediately offering to pay for whatever James wanted. They fought politely on who was going to pay for what, before James surrendered, letting Steve pay for his hot chocolate. Steve got chai tea and a whole wheat bagel, James commenting on how hipster that was. Steve had asked what a hipster was. James was pretty sure that he hadn’t laughed that hard for a long time. They sat down next to a window, James realising that it was the same spot where he’d met Clint for the first time. He didn't mention it to Steve. James sighed loudly in pleasure as the hot chocolate filled his stomach, warming him inside out. James cocked an eyebrow when he saw Steve looking at him with a frown.

“What?” 

“Nothing, you just seem like a black coffee type.” He said with a shrug. James tilted his head to the side.

“I’m a type?” Steve blushed. He dared to blush and look bashful.

“No, I didn’t mean to-“

“Dude, it’s fine.” James said with a chuckle. His nerves going away slowly. Steve cleared his throat and rubbed his hands on his thighs. James clenched his jaw and tried to not look down. 

“So I’m thinking of starting a business.” James frowned. Wondering how this became a pitch meeting all of the sudden. James nodded and tried to act interested. Even though it was Steve,living in Cambridge with Harvard and MIT students everywhere, there wasn’t anyone who didn’t have a company or business idea.

“Oh?”

“A bar, to be precise. For vets like me.”

“Sounds like a good idea.” James said and tried to not sound so dry. Steve chuckled.

“You hate it.”

“No, it’s just everyone wants has start up projects here.” Steve nodded.

“Of course.” James bit the inside of his cheek. The awkwardness creeping back into the conversation, uninvited and unwanted.

“But, I’d love to hear more.” Steve started to talk about his idea, and James wasn’t that disinterested anymore. Apparently it wasn't just Sam and Steve who were war veterans in Cambridge. Steve wanted to create a bar, a space that was aimed specifically for them. Where they would feel welcomed and not so out of place. Steve had also thought a lot about it, already finding a few possible locations. James didn’t like listening to pitches. He did, however like to hear about someone talking about their passion. Steve was passionate and so caring about his cause. He wanted to create a place where they felt safe talking about their experiences that wasn’t a VA meeting without feeling uncomfortable. He had ideas of putting up artwork form independent artists and getting couches form craigslist. James found out that Steve had worked part time as a bartender in his college days. James found out that he wanted to have something where he felt like he could be himself and not cover up his brutal military history. 

“Seems like you have it all figured out.” James said with a small smile, not understanding why Steve was sharing his idea with him. Because it was personal and an idea that was close to Steve’s chest. Steve shrugged. 

“I wanted to hear another viewpoint.”

“I think it’s a great idea.” James said sincerely.

“And I also wanted to go and check out the locations with somebody.” James frowned. So this was not a date. He didn't know if he was relieved by that.

“Why not ask Sam?” They seemed close. Steve smiled.

“Because I wanted to do it with you.” James shrugged and agreed, saying that it wasn’t much to lose. Turns out that Steve had everything planned out. He’d set up meetings with landlords, discussing rent and asking about the neighbourhood surrounding it. James stayed in the background, asking himself how he’d become the witness to all of this. Steve told him that he’d been thinking about this for a few months, already setting up new accounts. How Steve could afford to just spontaneously start his own bar, James didn’t ask. Maybe he was a secret millionaire. Fuck if James knew.

When they parted, Steve had decided on a small location on Massachusetts avenue. James was still confused, but happy to be in Steve’s company. And James found out why Steve wanted to grab a coffee with him. He wanted to know if James could work as a server at his project. James had deflated a little bit. But his funds were running low, so he’d agreed. 

Over the next coming weeks, Steve talked to him regularly about the bar. Calling him in the middle of class to tell him that he’d signed the papers. Steve would call him asking if he wanted to join him to pick up furniture for the bar with him. James usually accepted since he wasn't that busy with the semester coming to an end. Apparently James had become Steve’s first call when it came to his project. James was happy of being in Steve’s life, getting to know him better and becoming a friend. He was also facing confused. He still wasn’t sure if Steve liked guys or if James should just give up on the idea of a romantic relationship all together. 

They started to meet up about two times a week, taking the 1 bus to Massachusetts avenue. After about two meet ups James realised that Steve lived on the same street as him. Which in turn prompted Steve to invite him for dinner, discussing the finer details of the bar. James would be lying if he said that he didn't like to spend time with Steve. But it felt more like a partnership than anything else. After four weeks the last pieces of artwork had been put up. A bar counter in thick, polished oak had been set up. Steve worked non-stop, it was a passion project that James thought was actually going to work out. James had made it clear to his friends that he wasn't going on dates with Steve two times a week, but helping him start up his own business. They had looked at him like it was some sort of innuendo.

 

In a total of four weeks of planning and setting up, James and Steve had undeniably become close friends. James spent more time with Steve than Tony, and he lived in the same room as Tony. Steve was brilliant at planning, he had already planned out hours, menu, down to the music, everything come to think of it. He already had a list of possible employees, James being one of them. The location was about a fifteen minutes walk away from the DVS and serval of the apartment complexes housed vets. The word had gotten around and several people had stopped Steve in the street discussing about the bar and when it was opening. James just followed along, still confused about his place in Steve’s life. 

“So, I’ve been thinking about a name.” James looked up from his bowl of pasta. After four weeks of daily contact, James felt comfortable enough to spread out on Steve’s couch. Neither of them had mentioned the fact that it was Christmas Eve and they were spending it together. James was pretty sure that Steve had forgotten it. 

“Do tell.” Steve’s passion was infectious. James was just as invested in the bar project as Steve.

“Howling commandos.” James raised an eyebrow.

“It was my squads call-name in the army.”  James nodded. Steve didn't usually talk about his military history, so James didn't push. So far, everything had been going according to plan. Only a week ago, Steve had gotten his license. Steve had contacted a local brewer that he'd met in Kosovo, whom incidentally had an alarmingly passionate hobby of beer brewing. In any case, Steve had gotten a wide assortment of beer supply for a good price. James had become Steve's main advisor. Even though he had to redo his calculus exam, he could do the math. Helping Steve what to invest in and what was best in the long run. Despite the very spontaneous way things were going, James had a good feeling about it. And as long Steve was happy, James was too.

The only concern James had was how fast things were going. One day, Steve didn't have a location, and the next they were ordering a three month worth supply of beer. James didn't know if Steve had realised it. Sometimes he would go quiet for serval minutes and then telling James that they needed to go to Ikea to buy glasses.

"I feel like all of this is rushed... I know it's kinda over the line to ask..." James lets the question hang in the air for a second. Steve sighed deeply.

"It is rushed. I needed something to do with my day. I've been just walking around, doing nothing and I hated it. I've been planning all of this in my head for a while. I just needed a catalyst to get going, you know?" Steve said in a quiet voice, poking the fork in his bowl of pasta. 

"And what was this catalyst?" Steve was quiet. For several seconds. James was about to repeat himself when Steve spoke up.

"You." James was speechless, he blinked, starring at Steve. Steve clenched his jaw hard. James watched as the muscles worked under the pressure and Steve took a deep breath.

"You know at the arts museum?" James mutely nodded.

"After that, I went home and started to draw again. I hadn't drawn for years, and after I met with you, I just started again. I mean it looked like shit-" James chuckled, Steve rarely cursed, when he did it meant something.

"But yeah, started drawing again, realised how much I missed it. I started to think about the bar idea again, seriously this time. I thought, why not?" He said with a shrug. Steve took a sip of water and looked at James, a small smile forming on his lips.

"In almost every military base there was a E or O club. No civilians allowed. It was one of the few places we allowed ourselves to let loose, talk about coming home. Get drunk. It felt safe and the closest thing we had to home. I wanted to re-create that." Steve didn't talk much, unless it really mattered. James let Steve take his time, waiting for him to continue. Not interrupting.

"I know there's so many vets that feel lonely and out of place. The bar won't be a solution or anything, just a crutch." James nodded. Only realising in that moment how lonely Steve really was. James didn't see Steve socialise with anyone expect him or Sam. He hadn't really mulled over it, thinking himself special. Never considering that maybe Steve's friends was just him and Sam.

“And besides, I want you to be involved.” Steve said casually, like he had no idea how the words made James feel. He put down his bowl, looking at Steve, biting the inside of his cheek. James cleared his throat and rolled his neck back, hoping that Steve wouldn’t notice his hands shaking.

“I’m not exactly well-versed in the restaurant business.” James said and forced a half smile. Steve squinted his eyes and tilted his head.

“Doesn’t matter, you are the infamous catalyst made made Steve Rogers get off his ass and start working again.” Steve said with a half snort. He was joking but it felt so sincere. James nodded, trying to push down the feeling of pride, because there was no way that he meant so much to Steve.

“Please, don’t refer yourself in third person, ever again.” James said with a big smile. Steve returned it and they ate in comfortable silence. 

"So what's a snapchat?" James laughed.

 

On New Year's eve, Steve decided to have the grand opening of the Howling Commandos. Steve had painted the logo in a large black font over the entrance. The bar was small and cozy, mismatched couches and chairs surrounding wood tables. Steve's old artwork was covering the walls. In the background soft jazz music was playing on the sound system James had set up. Even though it lacked people, James knew that Steve had done a good job. He'd set up a relaxed atmosphere and it felt like a Berlin styled bar. On the first night, Steve had said that they probably just needed him and Steve there, since it hadn't become well known just yet. Sam had told everyone at his VA meetings about it. Both James and Steve had told him that it wasn't necessary and had agreed that Sam's recommendation wouldn't do much.

James had his heart up his throat at 9.20PM before the bar had its opening. He looked out the window and it turned out that Sam's word had meant something. Because there was a fucking line outside the doors. It may have something to do with the "Free beer until midnight" sign by the door, but James hadn't expected a crowd. James gave Steve a look, who was just as shocked as James.Since it was a bar meant for vets, many of whom who didn't like to get drunk. Therefore the Howling Commandos offered a variety of alcoholic free options. James had invited the entire B2 floor on the promise that they would go for the non-alcoholicdrinks. James knew for a fact that Tony wasn't going to keep that promise, if he was going to up at all for that matter. James swore when he saw Clint and Kate, which was expected, but they had brought everyone from B2. James was also pretty sure that there was some grad students from Tang hall. The word must have spread, and spread fast. James figured that with Tony’s excellent socialising skills or just talking them into had made them come. Because he knew for a fact that the MIT New Year’s parties were famous. James commented to Steve that ‘The Howling Commandos Bar’ had apparently become a joint vet and college bar. Steve had shrugged and stated that customers were customers. James frowned when he saw that he was getting a call from Nat. Their daily calls had swindled a little bit since James was Steve’s personal assistant and he’d gotten more than five friends, so he was a little surprised to see her caller ID on his phone display.

“What happened?” He asked, in Russian. Even though they mainly texted in English and Nat knew the language fluently, her accent was thick. Despite her refusing to admit it, she was embarrassed by it.

“Nothing, I was going to ask the same.” James looked at Steve who was pointing at the clock, singling that he was going to open the doors for the public for the first time in just five minutes.

“What?” James asked and tried to not sound annoyed. Nat sighed on the other line.

“Do you realise how fucking weird this situation is?” James rolled his eyes. Nat sounded more and more like his mom for every phone call.

“Because I do. Five weeks ago you were wondering if you should cut Steve off in your life because he might be a homophobe. Now you’re starting a fucking bar with him.” Nat was reasonable, as usual. James had thought it over and he knew that it was more that strange. Steve wasn’t just some guy, it was Steve. Nat wouldn’t understand all the different spectrums and levels their relationship was built upon. It was a conversation that needed a few hours at least. 

“Do you even know him?” Nat asked with a sigh, her concern shining through. She’d always told him how he trusted to easily. She was right in some aspects, but it was _Steve_. Neither of them had talked about how odd it was that they got along so well, it was like a silent agreement. They would talk about it when they had some kind of disagreement and so far, the only argument they’d had was about what kind of food the bar would serve.

“Yes! I know him, he’s 35 and an actual golden retriever. Nat, this is fine, we’re fine. I don’t really get this relationship either, it’s-“

“If you’re gonna say complicated, I will fly to Boston and bitch slap you.” Nat cut off in a sharp tone. With Nat, things had to be crystal clear, no white lies, simple truth. She saw things in black and white, either things were or were not. James wanted to tell her that it wasn't that simple.

“It’s good.” James settled on.

“It’s a good thing, I have a good friend here and I don’t wanna lose that relationship by questioning everything about it.” James said with a sigh. Nat was quiet for several seconds before she spoke up, in a small, quiet voice.

“You’re not replacing me, are you?” James clenched his jaw tight. He close his eyes briefly. Nat had to build up walls around her, thick and made of steel, much like James. One of the many reasons why they’d become close friends in the first place. Nat often acted indifferent in her affections, but James knew that she could be as insecure as the next person. 

“No one could ever replace _the_ prima ballerina Natasha Romanoff.” James said with a smile, hoping it would translate through a phone call. Nat snorted a laugh. The quiet, shaky voice that he rarely heard gone already. 

“Bitch please, not even if you tried.” James ended the call after Steve panicked waving towards the doors. He wished Nat a happy New Year and told Steve that Nat said hi. Steve waved it off, he was clearly nervous. James asked if he was okay at the same time Steve asked the same thing. They walked up to the entrance, smiling at the people outside. Sam was standing first in line, a smirk on his face. The crowd had huddled together for warmth, James could hear the faint pop music on the other side someone was playing on the phone. James gave Steve a reassuring smile and took a deep breath. At 9.35PM on 31st of December, 2016, Steve Rogers and James Barnes opened the glass double doors to the Howling Commandos bar for the first time.

Having just two people behind the bar, one bartender, Steve and one server, James, was definitely not enough. Steve and James had anticipated thirty people, tops fifty. Not the maximum capacity. Legally, they could have a hundred people in the bar at the same time. After rushing out trays of beer pints filled to the brim five times, rushing between tables, James realised that they needed backup, badly. Steve had also realised this and stated in a grim voice that he hadn't told anyone on the employee list that they were needed and they had other plans. For all the planning in the world, Steve could in no way had predicted all the seats being occupied. Kate and a few others from B2 had come to say make small talk, which James had done quite stressfully. Clint must have seen the panic in James’ face and told him that he could fill in as an extra server, just for the night. Steve, who’d unofficially taken the most humble man in the world medal, had protested it. After glancing at the small crowd that had gathered on the other side of the bar counter he’d gratefully accepted. James and Clint were dishing out drinks and trays of chips like their life depended on it. Despite that James was a novice in the restaurant business it wasn't that hard. He just had to keep track on who ordered what.

It was nice. Though it was a lot of people, James wasn’t that stressed out. It wasn’t a high end cocktail bar or a loud club, so there was a big room for error that was overlooked. He’d even received tips from a table full of Iraq veterans. It was probably a pity tip, because he spilled one of their beers. Time moved fast, after an hour of being on his feet non-stop, it didn’t feel as crowded. James usually hated crowds, but with the relaxing soft 30’s music playing in the background and near to none high expectations, James didn’t have his heart in his throat.He was thankful that Steve asked him if it was too much and if he was okay every other time he approached the counter with more orders. Steve knew that James had anxiety over a lot of things and Steve’s small smile and clap on the back felt like it was enough. 

Clint had some difficulty picking up the orders, often telling them to annunciate more, gesturing to his ears. James had watched as a man, maybe in his late thirties hand smiled with his teeth, pointing to his ears. The man had said that he’d lost all of his hearing in his left ear after a landmine went off. Clint had with great joy started to communicate in ASL with the man. James smiled at the scene and started to pick up empty glasses from the table next to Clint. It was surprising that it wasn’t a rowdy, messy crowd. Considering the amount of college students. Steve had been persistent and asked for ID from everyone who looked like they were under 30. Sure, a few of the MIT students had left because of it. But James was grateful for that, knowing how the Burton house undergrads were when drunk. James figured that most there just wanted an easy night out with friends and no fuss.

At 11.10PM James allowed himself to step out. Asking Clint if he could handle it for ten minutes alone. Clint had looked at him like it was obvious. James, only dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt, wrapped his arms around himself when he was faced with the cold December wind. He asked a woman next to him for a cigarette. She smiled and offered him two. James wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or genuine attraction that prompted her to ask for a hug in payment. Either way, James wasn't interested. He lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag. He looked back into the bar through the windows in slight disbelief. He spotted Steve, pouring up a beer with a large smile while talking to Sam. James didn’t really know Sam that well. He knew that they were close friends, but when James was with Steve, Sam was rarely there.

A part of him wondered how well things were going and if his luck would keep giving. James had in all honestly not been that sure if the opening would be a disaster or not. Considering the little time the set up had taken. He hadn’t shared is worries with Steve, he was so enthusiastic about it. Now, James felt guilty for doubting Steve’s ability. James turned when he heard the door opening again. James smiled when he saw Steve there.

“This is going surprisingly well.” Steve said. James nodded and took another drag. Steve walked up to his side, rubbing his arms for warmth. James tried to not let his eyes wander. Still, after four weeks of spending time together, James wasn’t really sure where Steve’s opinion lied on sexual orientation. Steve hadn’t expressed any attraction to either men or women when they’d talked. And James was too much of a coward to ask. But as he watched how Steve’s large hands moved and his easy smile, James was sure where his attraction lied.

“I never had any doubts.” Steve rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“You were unsure since day one.” He said, James mirrored Steve’s expression and sighed.

“Okay, yeah, fine. I wasn’t that confident. But hey, things are working out brilliantly.” James said and gestured to the bar that was still packed. Steve smiled.

“I wanted to thank you, not just for helping out so much, but for being my friend.” James was often blind sighted by Steve’s upfront, genuine shows of affection. He wasn’t used to it. He nodded and didn’t know what to say.

“It’s nothing. It isn’t really much work, being your friend.” James frowned a little, the word _friend_ tasted a little sour to him. Steve was quiet for a moment while James put out the cigarette.

“We should go back in, there’s still people wanting to get drunk.” James muttered, not sure why he felt so bitter all of the sudden. Steve made a sound of agreement, but there was a thick line between his brows, like he was trying to figure out a difficult puzzle. 

James joined Clint again, the orders didn’t come in as frequently, it was mostly clean up at that point. They could easily stay by a table saying hi and make a little bit of small talk without feeling stressed. James felt a little uncomfortable when Sam introduced him to some of his friends from the VA. Especially when Sam introduced James as ‘Steve’s second best friend’, he wasn’t sure what to make of that. He sat down briefly with Kate and the roommates from 233F, they were sipping on Virgin Piña Coladas, James didn’t even know that it was on the menu. Kate said it was a blast, even though they couldn’t drink any alcohol. The group of girls explained it was nice to know that there wasn’t going to be any awkward, unwanted advances towards them. That they felt safe. James smiled, knowing it was one of the things Steve wanted to achieve. His smile faltered when Kate off hand mentioned how hot Steve was. He knew that it was irrational to even feel a little bit jealous. But they were giving his biceps names and James couldn’t help to feel annoyed. James made his exit when Sammi asked if he agreed. 

Ten minutes to midnight and James was exhausted. His feet felt like they would fall off at any moment. Steve had told both him and Clint it was okay to take another break, the crowd was satisfied for now. James sat down heavily on one of the couches, groaning in relief quietly. Clint was sipping on Kate’s third Piña Colada talking loudly. James felt a small smile spread over his lips. He was about to move over to their table when he saw Steve approach him. James ignored the feeling of panic filling his veins. Steve offered him a bottle of beer, he noted that it was non-alcoholic, he also noted that Steve’s bottle wasn’t.

“I have a suggestion.” He’d shared a room with Anthony Stark for an entire semester, so naturally Tony’s behaviour would rub onto James. Like a rash. Unbidden, James raised an eyebrow with a suggestive glint in his eyes. Steve rolled his eyes. 

“You need a nickname.” He said in a final voice, like he’d mulled it over for a long time. James snorted and looked at him with questioning eyes.

“In my squad, we had two guys named James, both had nicknames, Jim-“

“How original.” James commented. Steve smacked his arm playfully.

“And Monty. His middle name was Montgomery. So it would be fitting if you had a nickname too.” Steve explained. James tilted his head to the side, taking a pull from his beer. The poor lighting must be playing tricks on him, because to James, it looked like Steve was starring at his mouth.

“I never had I nickname.” That was a lie. Nat sometimes called him ‘Glupyy’, which sounded kind of charming if you didn’t know Russian. It meant Stupid in Russian, so he wasn’t that fond of it.

“That has to change.” Steve stated in a decided voice.

“You need a nickname too, then.” He said with a pointed finger.

“Already have one.” Steve said with a shrug.

“Steven, Steve.” James laughed, it was the worst nickname he’d ever heard. He wasn't even sure it qualified as a nickname. Steve also knew how bad it was and joined his laughter.

“What’s your middle name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, at your service, Sir.” He said with a mock salute. At Steve’s adorable, confused expression, he explained that his dad used to be a major American history buff. And thus he was named after possibly the worst U.S president of all time.

“How about Jamie then?” Both grimaced as Steve suggested it. Steve drank his beer and thought for a second before suggesting another, which was somehow worse than the first suggestion.

“Buch.” James frowned in disgust.

“No, no way. Buch means book in German.” Steve ignored James’ comment that Steve sucked at coming up with nicknames.

“Bucky?” James tilted his head, it was the best suggestion so far, however it didn’t mean that it was good either.

“Bucky? It sounds like a stripper name.” He said just to see Steve blush a little. Steve was an army guy, but he was in no way as vulgar or crass as other vets he’d met. Steve cleared his throat.

“Seems fitting, don’t you find?” James nearly spit out his beer. It felt like a triumph hearing Steve say a sex joke, even through it was very, very bad. James chuckled.

“Hey, I would be a high end escort.” James argued playfully. Steve laughed and nodded.

“Bucky it is then.” Steve said. James rolled his eyes. For a nickname it was really bad. But Steve seemed so happy giving him one, so he just let it roll. They started to talk about the work schedules for next week, agreeing that James would do four days a week, part time as they had discussed before. Steve explained that he needed to get some papers for James to sign later. Steve looked like a deer caught in the headlights when the entire bar started to chant the countdown. James glanced at his wristwatch, not having realised how close it was to midnight. James looked at Steve. Steve looked at James. The New Year’s kiss wasn't a tradition that James upheld in Russia. But looking around he spotted several people grouping together in pairs. Steve had also noticed this. As the countdown was on three, James impulsively did something incredibly stupid. James leaned in and placed a kiss on Steve’s lips, who was completely frozen. James thought ‘Shit, he’s probably a homophobe.’ James pulled away just as the countdown was over. They starred at each other for serval seconds in tense silence. For the first time in four weeks, James felt uncomfortable being next to Steve. James was a coward. He stood up, his half full bottle falling to the floor, he couldn’t meet Steve’s eyes. He fled to the bathroom and left alone Steve on the couch.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a repost

Starting a bar meant that Steve Rogers had to work late nights. Which in turn messed up his sleep schedule. He was used to go up at five and jog for an hour. Since he was usually finished up cleaning at five, that routine went out the door quite quickly. Instead, he jogged at one, after sleeping. Steve wasn’t used to sleep during the day, so it had taken him a few weeks to establish his new routine. The Howling Commandos was open Tuesday through Sunday. From 4PM to 3AM. After three months of open business, things had turned out surprisingly well. Steve had realised that the bar was not going to go out of business in a short amount of time at the grand opening. He’d been happy and shocked how large the outcome was. The Howling Commandos didn’t house that many patrons every night, but the numbers were close to it. Steve didn’t feel as useless anymore and was starting to avoid separating civilians and enlisted people. He was starting to make friends that had never held a rifle before, never seen a land mine go off. It was refreshing and oddly satisfying. After seeing how well Clint Barton had filled in as a server at New Year’s and how much his Sam’s friends at the VA liked him, Steve had offered Barton permanent employment. Barton had accepted after Bucky had convinced that it was a fine job. The subject of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes made Steve’s head ache a little bit. Not because it was anything wrong with Bucky. But because there was definitely something wrong with Steve.

Bucky worked at the Howling Commandos on Wednesdays and Friday through Sunday. Wednesdays because he didn’t have early classes on Thursday. Steve wouldn’t admit on his life that he’d memorised Bucky’s schedule. It wasn't that weird, Steve was his boss. Which made his Bucky problem worse. Steve liked Bucky, more than he ought to. Ever since he’d met him at the subway and gone to the fine arts museum with him, Bucky had grabbed a special spot in Steve’s heart. It was undeniably, incredibly moronic. For so many reasons. For instance, Steve was sixteen years older than him. Steve was now Bucky’s boss, a mess that Steve was the sole reason for. And Bucky didn’t like Steve, in that way at least. Sam had called Steve stupid for just assuming that Bucky wasn't attracted to men. Even through not much was against the aspect of Bucky being on the queer spectrum, the evidence that he liked women was more obvious. His relationship with Natasha Romanoff reminded Steve painfully of Peggy. 

Steve was a grown man, he’d enlisted in the army, fought and killed. Yet he couldn’t muster up the courage to just ask Bucky of his romantic preferences. Steve knew since he’d gotten back that the world had changed. That America had changed. The ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy was disbanded. Gay marriage was legal. The United Kingdom voted out of the European Union. Steve had missed a lot of historic milestones. One that he hadn't missed was the election and inauguration of the 45th United Sates President. It was a Monday, 5PM, so as he’d done for the last month, he’d met up with Bucky and his friends at Flour Bakery. The spot he’d proposed the Howling Commandos idea. At the moment there was a heated debate between Scott Lang and Kate Bishop. The subject being what the easiest way was to get Donald Trump to not be president anymore. Steve found it a little weird that his social network included undergrads. But it was Bucky’s friends, so Steve didn’t mind that much.

“Impeachment is the democratic and easiest solution!” Was Lang’s main argument. For engineering undergrads, who took close to none humanitarian classes, they were making pretty convincing cases.

“You need a majority vote in the house _and_ in the senate. Which are both, I might add dominated by the Republicans. The house speaker, as proven post-travel ban, will not take opposition against Trump. Assassination is obviously the way to go!” Steve had never been politically involved. But it didn’t mean that he was a bigot either. He’d grown up in New York, Brooklyn. A place where not being liberal was considered a crime. He glanced to his right, where Bucky was seated, sipping on hot chocolate even though it was March. The early Spring sun glaring into the large window behind them.

“If he gets assassinated, he will go down as a martyr. Kennedy didn’t bring Honecker to an end, nor even tried to take down the Berlin Wall. A shot to the head and he’s written off as the most patriotic president of all time.” Barton pointed out. Bishop turned a hard glare to him.

“He didn’t say ‘Grab them by the pussy’ on TV though!” She exclaimed. Bucky snorted a laugh into his cup. Steve, already feeling drained from the conversation, turned to Bucky. Talking about an idiot being a sitting U.S President made him feel annoyed.

“Have you fixed the door yet?” Steve asked. Payday had been two weeks ago and Bucky had promised that he would buy a door for his dorm room. The whole doorless ordeal had been unbelievable at first, but then Bucky had explained that Stark was behind it. Which then made so much more sense. Bucky groaned loudly and shook his head.

“No. The entire B-C house is against it. It’s literally just me who wants the door back.” He said with a sour expression. Steve chuckled. After seeing pictures on Bishop’s Facebook, he had to admit that it gave the plain college dorm character. Facebook wasn’t the only social media thing that Steve had set up. With Bucky’s help he also had a LinkedIn, Snapchat and Instagram. He’d been officially sucked into the black hole the internet was. To be fair, both his Instagram and Facebook was dedicated to the bar.

“They-“ Bucky pointed an angry finger at the group-“have started a pool to keep me from buying a new one.” Bishop turned her attention to Bucky with a large grin.

“We sure did.” She said, for a moment forgetting the heated argument.

“It’s up at a hundred dollars a month.” Barton added. Steve let out an impressed whistle.

“You guys give him a hundred bucks a month, to keep him from buying a door? That’s dedication.” Steve said. Everyone except Bucky looked extremely satisfied with Steve’s praise. Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

“My student debt is not complaining. My pride however…” He trailed off. Bishop snapped her fingers.

“Right! Speaking of Bucky-“ Bucky groaned loudly. He had made his protest against his new nickname very clear. Which made his friends even more adamant to use it as often as possible.

“We have some planning to do.” She finished, ignoring Bucky’s loud sounds of annoyance. Steve raised a questioning eyebrow. Bucky shook his head and looked like he was about to jump up and body slam Bishop.

“So what do you wanna do for your birthday?” Lang asked, forgetting the debate completely. Then it registered what Lang had said. Steve turned an almost accusing stare to Bucky. Who was rolling his eyes.

“It’s your birthday?” He asked. A little hurt that Bucky hadn’t mentioned it.

“I’m amazed that you even know that.” Bucky said, looking at Lang, ignoring Steve.

“When is your birthday?” Steve asked. Bucky waved him off, seemingly embarrassed by it.

“Today.” Barton said into his cup of coffee. Steve’s eyebrows went up.

“Today!?” He repeated loudly. Bucky groaned and nodded.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s just another day.” He leaned forward with open arms, trying to make them forget about it. Steve rolled his eyes, there was no way that he was letting it go.

“Birthday bash, birthday bash!” Lang started to chant, the others soon joined him. Steve didn’t because Bucky looked so uncomfortable. Steve’s hurt turned into concern. He knew that Bucky wasn’t that great when it came to attention and they were making a scene. Several of the tables nearby had turned to see what was going on.

“Do you want them to stop?” Bucky gave him a small smile and sighed. He then shook his head and told them to fuck off. He cleared his throat and caught their attention, Lang was still chanting.

“Okay. But just a small one.” He said in a final voice. They cheered in victory.

Bucky’s birthday party had somehow gotten the location Steve’s apartment. Since the housing complex at MIT wasn’t all that party friendly and Steve lived close by. Steve was reluctant to agree, but he did because it was Bucky’s birthday party after all. Bucky had tried to convince Steve that he didn’t have to get dragged into his friends’ scheming, but Steve had said it was fine. 

 

It was not fine.

 

Steve had never hosted a party before. In college, he’d lived on campus and the parties were usually held in one of the fraternities or in someone else’s dorm. In high school he didn't have any friends to invite to a party. At 35 he was hosting his first party. Which was also automatically, since Bucky was an undergrad, a college party. Steve groaned loudly. Oh God, he’s that guy. That weird guy who was friends with 19 year olds. Steve knew that it would be an asshole move to cancel, so he called Sam. He was totally not panicking on his couch. Sam arrived after twenty minutes with a smug grin on his face. When Steve had opened the door, the first thing Sam said was;

“You’re so fucked.” Steve grimaced.

“I know.”

“You’re hosting Barnes’ birthday party, because you’re so into him.” Steve sighed and hit his head into the doorframe lightly.

“I know.” He mumbled.

“You need to get a grip, man.” Sam said in a more serious voice, but then broke into a grin.

“I know.” Steve whispered. Because Sam knew that Steve hand’t been in a relationship since 2005. Which was a pathetic fact in itself. Steve had asked for Sam’s advice serval times, and he usually said the same thing; Go for it. But it wasn't that simple. Bucky was Steve’s friend. Best friend. He would be an idiot and announce his affections and risk that friendship. Steve told Sam this, which was a monologue that he’d repeated serval times to Sam. Sam, every so patient, rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.

“Dude, you kissed. Twice.” Steve winced. 

“It wasn’t even a kiss! Either times. First one was on the cheek-“

“And the second one was on the mouth.” Sam said drawled with raised eyebrows. It was concerning how much of his life Steve shared with Sam. Steve pushed the palm of his hands into his closed eyes. He looked up and said defensively;

“Okay, but it wasn’t a kiss. Lasted half a second and can barley count as a peck.” Steve said. Neither Steve or Bucky had not even gotten close to talk about New Year’s Eve. Steve almost wished that either of them had the excuse of being drunk.

“It’s probably a European thing…” Steve muttered. Sam starred at him blankly for several seconds.

“Okay, first, you’re an idiot.” He said bluntly. Steve leaned back into the couch. Sam was sitting where Bucky usually sat. Steve was an idiot.

“Second, that’s offensive, Europe is not a country.” Steve groaned, after a thirty minute debate about Trump, his daily political correctness quota had been filled.

“Thirdly, you’re really an idiot, _Steven_. Barnes likes you.Like a lot.” Steve looked at Sam like he was an idiot. Sam also knew that Steve needed time. More than most. Adjusting to civilian life. Time to move on and time to work up the courage to make small talk. Steve was getting better at it, but Sam should understand, more than anyone, that Steve needed time to face his feelings. He couldn’t just do it head on and declare it. Sam sighed, Steve’s defeated look telling him that.

“He’s twenty, I’m thirty-five, it’s not possible.” Steve said in a hoarse voice. Steve knew that he was clinging on to the age difference to avoid the problem. It was a good enough of an excuse for now. Sam leaned froward and looked sympathetic.

“He’s legally an adult. He’s old enough to drive a car. He’s old enough to enlist in the army. He’s old enough to buy weed in D.C. The only thing he can’t do is drink alcohol. He’s not a seventeen year old kid.” Sam was logical and right, Steve knew. He was quiet and then stood up, this time, trying to avoid the subject physically. 

“We have to prepare for the party. It starts in three hours.”

Sam had brought wireless speakers, since Steve’s apartment lacked any kind sound system. He put on the same Spotify playlist he played in the bar. Sam was a Godsend, he knew that Steve didn’t have a kitchen full of food. On his way to Steve’s apartment he’d gone to the supermarket, buying way too much drinks and snacks. Steve knew that no one would care if he would vacuum or not, but he pulled out the vacuum clearer anyways, putting Sam on cleaning duty. Steve was pulling out glasses and bowls, putting non-alcoholic beer in the fridge. He was almost certain that someone would bring alcohol to the party, but Steve wasn’t going to be a supplier at least. Steve texted Bucky saying that if anyone got drunk and rowdy, they would be kicked out. Even if it was Bucky who got drunk and rowdy. He’d replied that it was going to be a casual, small party anyways. It was clear that Lang, Bishop, Barton and a few others from B2 were coming. There had been no mention of Stark. Steve had considered asking Bucky not to invite him. But Stark was his roommate and he didn’t want to impose with such a request. 

The party was meant to start at eight, only two hours away. Steve was scrubbing the kitchen counter, no one was going to notice. But it felt important, he was inviting Bucky’s friends to his home after all. Steve was almost startled when the sound of the vacuum stopped. He looked up at Sam, who was standing next to a bookshelf and holing a packet. Steve grimaced and started to walk up to him.

“You managed to buy a gift already? Didn’t you find you that it was his birthday to-“ Sam cut himself off when he noticed the tag. Steve cringed and Sam gave him a disappointed look.

“It says ‘Merry Christmas’ on it.” He stated in a bland, dry voice.

“You bought him a Christmas gift and you didn’t give it to him?” Sam chuckled in disbelief while Steve wanted to rip the gift from Sam’s hands.

“It felt weird! We had only known each other for like a month then.” Steve was never good at arguing for his cause. Because Sam knew, as well as Steve, that he just didn’t have the guts for it.

“It was long enough for you to start a bar with him.” Sam muttered and handed the red wrapped gift to Steve. He sighed loudly and put it on the coffee table.

“Bucky is not a co-owner.” He said weakly. Sam shook his head.

“You’re impossibly stubborn.” He stated drily. Steve knew that sentence far too well. 

During the two hours leading up to the party, Bucky had texted and called Steve several times. All of the times he asked if it really was okay that Steve was hosting the party. All of the times Steve had replied that it was okay. They had also decided that it would be best if Bucky would come a little bit earlier, so he would be there to greet everyone who would arrive for his birthday party. Bucky had been in Steve’s apartment a million times, but now Steve was nervous for him to arrive. 

On Sam’s advice, Steve had re-wrapped the Christmas gift so it looked like a birthday gift. At half eight, Bucky, presumably, knocked on the door. Sam had left ten minutes ago, having other plans. Steve took a deep breath, with the former Christmas gift in hand, he opened the door. Steve had to admit, he liked when Bucky went unshaved. He now found out that he liked Bucky even more clean shaved. His cheekbones looked even sharper, Steve wondered if he’d gotten a hair cut too. He was dressed in the usual black jeans and white t-shirt. Steve was starting to suspect that it was the only sort of clothes that he owned. Steve wasn’t going to mention it, because he was dressed in his usual attire of a blue t-shirt and chinos.

“Hey, happy birthday.” Bucky smiled.

“You’ve said that like ten times now.” He muttered, still smiling. 

“You forgot to mention your birthday, so I think it’s fair game.” Bucky held his hands up in surrender, then he spotted the gift in Steve’s hand. He silently offered it to him, Bucky giving him a look, saying that Steve shouldn’t have. That he was already using Steve’s apartment as a party venue and that was enough. Steve shrugged and said it was nothing. As soon as Bucky closed the door behind him, he started to rip off the wrapping paper. He saw it he looked at Steve with wide eyes. Steve wasn’t prepared for the hug, at all. But he hugged Bucky back, trying to hold in his sigh of content.

“I love it! I mean, I’m not so vain, but you made me look damn good.” He looked down at the framed sketch, it was a portrait of Bucky in graphite. Steve didn’t say that Bucky was one of the first things he started to sketch when he’d started to draw again. Steve smiled and asked if Bucky wanted a beer, Bucky nodded and they walked together into Steve’s small kitchen.

“Clint is bringing vodka, if that’s okay. I can text him not-“ Steve waved him off dismissively and handed Bucky a beer.

“It’s okay, as long as no one breaks anything, it’s fine.” Steve said and twisted off the cap. Bucky followed his suit and they hit the beer necks together.

“Okay, awesome.” He said, like it was easier to convince Steve than he’d thought. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"I was twenty once too. I'm not a narc." Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

"I don't know why I was surprised." They drank in silence for a few seconds. Steve started to pick at the label, scraping his thumb against the sticker.

“Hey, um, do you know if your roommate is coming?" He asked, his eyes glued on the bottle. Bucky shrugged, making a noise.

"Tony? Don't think so. He has a date." He said. Bucky seemed unaffected by it. Steve knew that he shouldn't be happy that Stark and Bucky wasn't that close.

"Oh?" Steve asked instead, not wanting to look suspicious. Bucky raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I'm as shocked as you are. They have been going solid for two months now. Harvard graduate, I think." Steve's first thought was that whatever girl Stark was dating, it must be something wrong with her. He didn't voice his opinion however. Steve nodded and took another pull from the bottle. They moved over to the couch, Bucky sitting down in his usual spot. It was ten to eight.

They started to talk about the abundance of superhero movies and how Steve disliked them. Bucky loved them. Steve stating that how death and destruction was trivialised. That the cinematography was bad and the colour grading worse. Bucky had starred at him for a moment before saying that Steve was a buzz killer. Bucky thought that Steve's love for weird art house foreign movies had officially made Steve into a hipster. Steve still didn't exactly know what that meant. Steve stayed in the background when the guests started to mill in, one of by one. 

Sipping on a beer, he guessed that maybe twenty people had arrived. Which was fine. Steve settled on just watching the scene. As Bucky had promised, Clint had brought vodka. Steve had reluctantly accepted a grimy looking mix of vodka, beer and orange juice. After taking a sip Steve had realised that it was indeed jungle juice. Memories of sticky floors and bad one-night stands floated to the surface and he’d put the solo cup down on the counter. Resuming drinking beer. 

Owning a bar and bar tending had made Steve’s standards for alcohol a little higher. Not only because he didn’t drink alcohol for the sole purpose of getting drunk anymore, but also because jungle juice was the most disgusting drink produced by man. Bucky’s birthday gifts had their designated place on Steve’s mainly, unused stove.Most of them weren’t even wrapped. Steve suspected that most people had come on the promise of alcohol. Steve blushed a little when a positively buzzed Scott Lang approached him with open arms, embracing him in a weak hug.

“This so awesome, you’re awesome, Steve.” Steve cleared his throat, laughing at Scott’s slurred words. Gently removing his arms from his shoulders, Steve took a step back.

“I mean, I gotta admit, I’m a huge fan.” Steve raised an eyebrow. One thing positive thing alcohol did was loosen people’s tongues. 

“Bucky can’t stop talking about you man. Steve this and Steve that. Dude, is it true you can rip a tree log apart with your bare hands?” Steve chuckled, having no idea what Lang was talking about. He tried to find Bucky in the crowd, it was only fair that he would be able to defend himself from Lang’s insane statements.

“Your phone address name is Stevie, by the way. It’s so adorable.” Steve looked at Lang in disbelief and chuckled. Steve steered Lang into the small kitchen space, handing him a large glass of water. Apparently alcohol also made people delusional. Steve rolled his eyes when Lang tried to put a baseball cap on Steve’s head, saying that he would look more like a college grad student than a narc. Steve obliged him, since Lang made a hilarious delighted sound when Steve put it on. Steve rolled his eyes and disposed Lang next to Bishop. Who looked betrayed when Steve said that she had to take care of his friend. It wasn’t even 10PM and someone was already puking in his bathroom, Steve found out when he tried to open the door. Finding it locked and the sound of vomit hitting water going straight through the thin door. Steve sighed and thought about the horrendous clean up he had to do the next day. 

Steve felt a little bit like a hoovering parent at the party. Giving a undergrad a stern look when he tried to light a cigarette in his apartment, Steve pointed at the balcony, saying that smoking inside was a clear negative. He couldn’t help but gather up empty bottles and cups and putting it in a black trash bag, feeling a little out of place. So cleaning. Steve held in a sigh and grimaced when a vodka red bull combo dripped down the counter. Starring at it for a second before getting out the napkins.

“You look like a frat boy.” Steve raised two eyebrows at Bucky. Then he looked down at himself. Then at Bucky again. Bucky rolled his eyes and pointed at Steve head. Steve felt a little bit embarrassed when he realised that he’d forgotten the cap on his head.

“I’m only a little offended.” Steve said, starting to wipe the counter. Bucky placed his arms over the counter, leaning forward.

“We’re setting up a game of beer pong. Wanna be on my team?” Steve opened his mouth, hesitating. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Come on! For me? It’s my birthday…” He said, pouting his lips ever so slightly. Steve sighed and nodded. Bucky threw his arms up, cheering.

“Yes!”

“But only for one game.” Steve said with a pointed finger. The whole party game ordeal brought up memories of his own college experience and it wasn’t all happy ones. But when Bucky announced to the entire party that Steve was going to play and they all erupted inn cheers, Steve felt oddly okay with it. They’re playing against a pair of twins, Wanda and Pietro, Bucky had quickly explained that it was a Burton VS. Conner game. Steve had asked how that made sense, since Steve was not enrolled at MIT. Bucky had ignored the lack of logic and started to set up cups. Soon was twenty cups, ten on each respective side set up on Steve’s flimsy extra table that had come with the apartment. Then the team name debate had ensued. The argument of having ‘Team Burton’ as their name, Steve had quickly shut down. Stating again, that he wasn’t enrolled at MIT. Then Bucky had suggested ‘Team Commandos’, probably because they both worked at the same bar. Bucky had conceded when Pietro had called it stupid. They had declared themselves ‘Team Sokovia’, since they were from Sokovia, when Bucky had said that they were ‘Team America’. Steve looked at Bucky and said that Bucky wasn’t even American.

“I’m from Brooklyn, which makes me a hundred precent American.” Steve didn’t even try to poke a hole in Bucky’s logic. A small group had gathered around them and a bets had already been made. Steve felt insulted when the majority thought that Team America was going to lose. Steve didn’t like party games that much. It wasn’t because it brought up bad college memories, but it was because Steve was extremely competitive. In fact, in his time at Cornell, he’d been banned from most games, because of it. Of course he didn’t mention it to anyone. One thing that Steve had learned in the army was the importance of warfare. Particularly, mental warfare. 

Pretending to be completely new to the game, asking both Bucky and the twins to go over the rules serval times. The Twins had looked at him like he was a hundred years old, but had stated that they would go easy on him. Steve held back a smirk. He glanced at Bucky. He was far too involved to not give his best. 

“In the first round, it’s Team America versus Team Sokovia. The winning team will continue to round two, meeting with the champions, Clint Barton and Kate Bishop!” Lang announced as they were about to start. The fact that Bucky had dragged Steve into a tournament had gone unnoticed. Bucky looked only a little apologetic when Steve gave him a look. 

“On the left side we have Team America, on the right, we have Team Sokovia. Make your final wages people!” Lang had a surprisingly good Michael Buffer impression going on. Steve said one again that he was nervous, a white lie. But Bucky said gently that they were going to crush Team Sokovia. 

“To decide who goes first, a classic flip of the coin!” Lang triumphantly held up a quarter. Steve gestured to Bucky to decide. He chose tails. Lang announced that it was heads and Team Sokovia was starting the first round. Pietro had with confidence landed a ping pong ball in the middle of the cup triangle. Steve took the hit and picked up the red cup. The beer was deflated and warm, Steve grimaced as he disposed of it. Steve was handed a small, white, plastic ball and Steve readied himself for the throw. Knowing that the opposite team would grow confident by it, Steve deliberately missed. Bucky said that it was no matter, but looked a little it disappointed by it.

Wanda got a ball in a cup on the left and Bucky picked it up, grumbling a swear under his breath as he drained it. Bucky managed to get a hit on the Twins, making Pietro pick up a cup on their right side. When it was Steve’s turn again, he smirked. Keeping on with the charade he fixed his aim and hit the brim of a cup. It baffled Steve a little that his failure didn’t surprise Bucky. Because Bucky knew that he’d been in the army and that he’d been very successful at it. Even though Steve hand’t brought Bucky to a shooting range, it should be a given that Steve knew how to throw a fucking ball into a cup. But Bucky just clapped a hand on his shoulder, saying that he’d get it next time. 

Steve acted like he didn’t know how to aim for another four rounds, the Twins only missing once. Eight of ten stood on the Team Sokovia side. Five out of ten was on the Team America side. Clint had abandoned his Team America support, trying to redact his bet against the Twins. Arguing to the bookie in the corner. Since Steve had yet to come close removing a cup, it came to a surprise when he did. Steve took a step back, looking at the cup at the far end. He put his hand up and threw the ball. In a beautiful arch, it flew over the table, landing square in the cup, not even hitting the edges. There was a pause of silence for a few seconds, before Bucky cheered loudly, the audience joining in. Lang commented on his disbelief, yelling how effortlessly Steve had thrown.Stating that Team America might be able to turn the game around. Bucky threw an arm around Steve’s shoulder, yelling excitedly. 

“Where the hell did that come from?” Steve hugged Bucky’s side, smiling. He shrugged and looked at Bucky.

“I’m just buying into the frat boy persona.” He said and took off the baseball cap before putting it on backwards. Bucky raised his eyebrows and laughed in disbelief. Wanda, still in surprise, was off her game. She missed and swore loudly. Or Steve guessed she did. It wasn’t in English. After that, Team America eradicated Team Sokovia. Bucky was good at beer pong, there was no denying that. But Steve was brilliant at beer pong. Steve, completely ridding himself of his made-up insecurity, didn’t miss. Even though he’d consumed a lot of beer. Thankful for his high metabolism, Steve barley felt buzzed. Bucky was only a little unsteady, his hands shaking a little, but unnoticeable to the untrained eye.  The Twins however, were going down. With much protest. Both from the crowd, making way too high risk bets and from the Team themselves. They didn’t have high tolerance and spent their time arguing with each other between rounds. Steve’s turn into a beer pong master had thrown them off their game, making them of rushed throws that Steve could predict would miss, as soon as they raised their hands.  Agitated and drunk, they missed. Four times in a row. Making Team America have only three cups left, while Team Sokolvia still had five.

Like a well oiled-machine, Bucky strategically removed another cup from the Team Sokovia side. Silently, Steve and Bucky had agreed to take out the cups starting left moving right. Making it easier as fewer cups was left standing. Pietro saluted a middle finger as he drank the contents of the cup. After another twenty minutes of intense game, three cups was standing on the American side. One cup on the Sokolvian side. And it was Steve’s turn. Everyone attending the party had gathered, watching in tense silence. Lang commented once again that the people had to get ready to pay up, because Team America was about to win. Steve wasn’t a cocky person, but with his clear mind and three years of college experience, he was sure that they were going to win. Still, he turned to Bucky, ping pong ball in hand. 

“For luck?” Steve asked, ball raised to Bucky’s mouth. Bucky smirked and leaned in, blowing on it. Steve, discreetly adjusted his pants and turned his eyes to the lone cup on the other side of the table. Pietro and Wanda, already realising that they’d lost, had identical crossed arms and clenched jaws. Then, Steve raised his arm ever so slightly and threw it. 

Steve’s entire apartment filled up with drunken cheers as the ball hit it square in the middle. Bucky clapped his hands, smiling brightly. Lang was announcing that he couldn’t believe his eyes. Bucky threw an arm around Steve, yelling;

“Give it up for Captain America!” 

Now when everyone knew that Steve actually knew how to play beer pong, Kate and Clint were merciless. They had declared that ‘Team Hawkeye’ was going to win without fail. Bucky had answered that it was long story when Steve had asked about the origins of the team name. The wages continued, the room quickly separating into teams. Apparently, Team Hawkeye was legendary when it came to beer pong. Being undefeated champions of the unofficial throne since the first semester. Bucky had commented that neither Barton or Bishop never missed. With extra empathies on the word _never_. Steve had a hard time believing that. Until Team Hawkeye started to play.

Barton had the same surety in his aim as Morita had in his. Morita was a SEAL trained sniper. Steve had raised an eyebrow when Barton had basically hit the middle of their triangle with his eyes closed. Steve, upping his game, didn’t hold back. But Bishop had answered with Steve’s determination, with faultless accuracy. Making Steve pick up a cup on their side. The choir of the audience didn’t let up, cheering for Barton, cheering for Bucky and cheering for Steve. In the end, Team Hawkeye won. Much to Steve’s disbelief. Bucky had been right when he’d said that they never missed. 

“Sorry, that was my fault.” Steve shrugged, even if Bucky was right, having missed only once.

“You can pay me back by helping cleaning up.” Bucky groaned when he looked at the floor, littered with empty cups and spilled beer. But Bucky sighed and commented drily that it was an awesome birthday gift. The attendees of the party had dissipated after 2AM after Steve had announced that no one was allowed to crash on his couch. Since the Burton-Conner house was only a fifteen minute walk away. Bucky had however stayed, after several late dinners and movie nights together, Steve didn’t protest it. 

Bucky did help cleaning up, picking up empty bottles and putting bowls in the washer. Neither Steve or Bucky were close to being drunk, only a little tired. As Bucky proved by yawning every five minutes. Even though Bucky had agreed to help cleaning, he’d designated Steve to do the bathroom. As Steve opened the door, he’d wished that he still had a gas mask at his disposal. 

Wordlessly they’d agreed on that Bucky was staying for the night. It had happened so many times before that Bucky was comfortable enough to dig into Steve’s closet for extra linens. At 3AM Steve was making tea, while Bucky was making himself at home on Steve’s couch.

“I never really had a birthday party before.” Bucky said wistfully as Steve handed him a cup. Steve raised eyebrow.

“Back in Russia it was basically just me and Nat.” He continued. Bucky took a sip and leaned back. Steve turned his body to face Bucky. He chuckled and said;

“We used to spend my birthdays with a bottle of vodka that she’d stolen from her dad’s liquor cabinet.” Steve smiled. Happy to have hosted his birthday party, despite the mess. 

“I used to spend my birthdays with my ma. She’d bake pie, because I hate cake.” Steve said, almost surprised to bring up his mom without being asked. Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Was it apple pie?” Steve snorted a laugh into his cup and nodded. 

“Of course.” Steve said.Bucky looked surprised by the confirmation. He remembered his mom in the kitchen, peeling apples and humming Irish folk songs. Steve frowned a little, not realising how much he missed her. How he hadn’t eaten apple pie since she’d passed away.

“Thank you, for all of this, you didn’t have to.” Steve shrugged Bucky’s gratitude off, feeling a little uncomfortable.

“You helped me through my middle-life crisis so…” Steve said drily. Bucky laughed and raised his eyebrows.

“So the bar was the result of a middle-life crisis.” Steve rolled his eyes, leaning back as well. Steve grimaced as the baseball cap dug into his skin. Steve took it off, not realising that he still had it on. Bucky looked at it when Steve threw it on the coffee table.

“Are you secretly a frat boy?” Steve chuckled.

“Far from it. In college I was such a nerd.” Steve said, not being humble or trying to be charming. He had been the stereotypical art nerd. With glasses and flannel shirts. 

“I don’t believe that.” Steve gave Bucky a look.

“Okay, you don’t look like the typical MIT undergrad student either.” 

“What do I look like then?” Steve tilted his head to right, thinking it over for a second. 

“An overworked grad student with overwhelming amounts of student debt?” Bucky gave him a blank look and then sipped on his tea.

“Touché.” They fell into comfortable silence. Bucky offhand started to complain about his studies and about his roommate. Steve, not liking where the conversation was heading, interrupted by saying that it was late. Bucky looked disappointed when Steve stood up and bid him goodnight, going to his bedroom. It wasn’t fair against Bucky to not disclose why he didn’t like Stark. But it was embarrassing and moronic. Steve needed time. Steve didn’t know how long it would take for him to explain or even if he would ever get the courage to do so. Steve thought about Bucky and how much of a coward he was and decided that it was better to be a coward that lose Bucky to something that had happened nine years ago. 

“So you didn’t fuck?” Steve threw a towel in Sam’s face. Sam was leaning over the bar counter, eating some fries while Steve was preparing for the day’s opening. Sam shrugged it off and threw it back to Steve. He resumed to clean the already clean surface, not answering Sam’s highly inappropriate question. But then it was expected from a ex-airforce solider.

“Steve, you hosted his party. You won a beer pong game in his honour. You allowed him to crash at your place. You don’t even allow me to crash at your place.” Sam said, pointing at his chest. Steve rolled his eyes. Sam was right. Steve didn’t allow Sam to stay over at his place, but that was because Sam never asked if he could. When Steve stated that fact, Sam groaned loudly.

“Okay, so beside the point man. You are head over the heels in love.” He said with pointed eyebrows. Steve gave him a blank look.

“I am not in love with anyone.” He said in a bland voice. Because being in love with somebody required mutual attraction. At least in Steve’s book.

“I mean alcohol was involved. College amounts of alcohol. And not even a drunken ‘happy birthday’ kiss?” Sam said, with quotation marks. Steve gave Sam a questionable look.

“I realise that it sounded very rape-esk, but you get what I mean.” Steve did get what Sam meant, but even if Bucky had tried to kiss him, he wouldn’t have taken advantage of that. If they ever would get together, and the word ever carried a lot of weight. The catalyst wouldn’t be because one of them were drunk. Sam rolled his eyes when Steve shared his line of thought.

“You’re such an old romantic. Do you have any idea how many people want to get together with you? Barnes is lucky that you even are attracted to him.” Steve grimaced.

“I’m pretty sure that the luck disappears when he sees the luggage.” Sam gave him a blank look.

“Now you’re just trying to find excuses. Yes, you were in the army. Yes, you’ve seen a lot of shit. Yes, there’s consequences to that. But Steve it isn’t a valid excuse to just sit back and ignore it. Get your contradictory head out of your ass.” Steve sighed loudly. 

“What do you want me to do then? Just going for it, is a very vague description.” Steve said finally. Sam’s face lit up, cheering loudly. He leaned over the counter.

“Are you asking me for love advice? Me? Am I your love guru? Tell me I’m your love guru.” Sam said in an excited voice. Steve narrowed his eyes in disbelief. Sam Wilson had carried out arial gunfire and had been hardened by the acts of terror. Yet he was the image of an excited puppy. 

“Sam. That is not the point.” Sam took a deep breath, focusing slightly.

“Okay. Here’s the advice, coming straight from Steve Rogers’ love guru-“

“You’re not my love guru.” Steve interrupted. Sam waved him off.

“Tonight, when Barnes comes in for is shift, you’re gonna act all casual. Like oh, hey Bucky, what’s up? And Bucky be like, _what’s up_? You’re gonna say, oh you know, the usual. Acting real fucking casual. The shift is gonna go business as usual. Barnes’ a smoker right? So when he goes out for a break, you’re gonna join him. Standing there next him, then you’re gonna be like, oh by the way, I’ve been thinking. Long and hard about you, and that’s not the only thing that’s hard ya know? And he’s all like, wait what? You say, I’ve been thinking. About you and me. Like romantically. He’s gonna be surprised, but don’t let that discourage you. You’re gonna look deep into his eyes. Then Steve fucking Rogers goes in for the kill, you lean in, kiss him. And he’s all like go shit. Then you’re both going to realise that oh wait, we’re totally boyfriends now.” Steve looked at Sam a deep line between his brows. He pointed a finger at him, opening his mouth, but no sound came out. Steve tilted his head and starred at Sam in pure confusion and disbelief. While Sam was looking at him expectantly.

“You’re a terrible love guru.”

Steve, under no circumstances took Sam’s advice to heart. When Bucky came in for his shift at 9PM, Steve smiled and asked how he was doing. There wasn't even a hint to the sentence ‘ _What’s up._ ’ It had been two days since the party and Bucky informed him that Steve had become somewhat of a legend in the Burton-Conner house. Apparently someone had filmed the beer pong game and posted it on Facebook. Steve didn’t know what to make of that. The night moved on as usual. Steve making small talk with the regulars, serving up beer and whisky. Bucky moving smoothly in-between tables. It was all going fine, perfectly fine until the clock hit midnight. Bucky stated that he was going for a smoke, Steve had nodded, seemingly fine. But Sam’s words were on replay in his head. Steve looked out over the bar, swallowing hard when he realised that it would be fine if he just disappeared from the bar for five minutes. Steve knew that he should go and talk with Bucky. Steve took a shot of whisky himself before he moved towards the door. Bucky gave him a surprised look when Steve walked up next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Steve was pretty sure that it wasn’t just him who felt the tension and stale awkwardness of the conversation. Steve was pretty sure he was radiating of it. Steve cleared his throat and sighed. Bucky gave him a look, Steve took a deep breath and said;

“I used to be friends with Howard Stark. Anthony’s dad. Quite close actually. He worked in the weapons division when I first enlisted.” Steve started off by saying. Bucky frowned, understandingly confused by the subject. Steve paused and clicked his jaw, not knowing where to go from there.

“Howard was complicated, eccentric like his son. But he was also kind. Even though he was making profit off war, he hated conflict. Howard was dedicated to his country, speaking often with my superior officer about strategy, and after a while, he talked to me. He wanted our company to be the best, since he was the 42nd’s consultant. It happened over two years. He’d flown out to Iraq in ’03. Then we were close friends, Howard being a breath of fresh air. I don’t know when it started, or who incited it. After a year he’d brought Tony with him to Afghanistan. As I said, Howard was eccentric and didn’t see anything wrong with it. Howard also didn’t see anything wrong with keeping the fact that he was still married away from me. As it turned out, I was the mistress…” Steve said, the word tasting like sour milk. Steve didn’t see Bucky’s reaction, Steve was looking out on the street ahead of them. Steve had somehow gotten up the courage to speak about his history with Howard. And it all came bubbling up, Steve found himself spewing out words and worries that he’d pushed down for years.

“Tony as you know is not stupid. It took him two days of watching Howard and me to figure it out. He didn’t go to his dad in private for an explanation. It was during a consultation with Colonel Fury, Captain Phillips and Howard Tony came busting in. Demanding an explanation. The Starks has always had a knack for timing. I was twenty-three years old and a Sergeant, there was no room for me to defend myself. Basically, Tony outed me in front of my superiors. Because of the DADT policy, I was almost discharged from my duties on the spot. If it hadn’t been for Fury who’d put his foot down. I was so angry. I wasn’t even angry at Howard for lying to his son and me. I was angry at a seven-year old kid. Still, I was friends with Howard, because he didn’t seem to understand what had happened, or even what being forced out of the closet had meant for me. We drifted, as people do. I continued my service, until 2005. Howard had passed away and I took leave for the first time in four years. I understand that Tony was angry with me, rightfully so, but Howard was still a friend. A friend when I had nothing. When I arrived in New York for the funeral, Tony was nine and he hand’t forgotten. As soon as I stepped out of the car he was on me like a hawk. He made security escort me from the premises. Howard and I had been close friends for four years and romantically involved for two years. Despite me being the catalyst for their divorce and Howard’s drinking, he was my friend. And I just wanted to say goodbye.” Steve voice wavered and he closed his eyes for a second. He couldn’t dare to turn and look at Bucky. Afraid to be judged, afraid from being ridiculed, Steve watched the cars drive by. He could hear Bucky’s shallow breathing, or, he wasn’t sure if it was him or Steve. Steve knew that it was a band-aid, he had to rip it off, all at once. Steve knew that there was no way that he could take another moment like this ever again. His pounding heart and shaking hands told him so.

“You know what’s fucking tragic? Every single person I’ve ever loved has died. My ma when I was sixteen… And Howard, well, you know the story. When I was in college I dated this woman, this amazing, smart woman. She was too good for me.” Steve huffed and held back a choke.

“Peggy worked as an assistant manager at Deloitte on the 101st in the North Tower. She was working and I was in my college dorm hungover. I didn’t find out until 10AM what happened. I turned on the news, wondering why Peggy had called me thirteen times. I tried to call back. No answer. I watched as the North Tower fell on live television. I wanted to think that she’d gotten out, she’d been so fucking smart. She would know how to get out. She’d been declared dead, because she’d been above the point of impact, I was told that there was no way that she’d gotten past the fire.” Steve didn’t care that he was crying. It seemed to be a default mechanism. His red eyes didn’t reflect his voice. His voice was steady, eerie calm. Because Steve had gone over the facts a million times. Trying to find a plausible explanation that she was still alive. Peggy’s death was something that Steve had come to terms with. The same was with Ma’s and Howard’s death. After his time in the army, death was a day to day event. Steve should be able to handle it by now. Still not looking at Bucky, Steve swallowed down a gasp and continued;

“I’m telling you this because you deserve to know. You’re my best friend. Sometimes I will be reminded of what I’ve lost and I will be even more insufferable than I already am. I want you to understand that I can’t always be happy and supportive, that sometimes I will not be able to be left alone.” Steve clenched his jaw tight and for the first time, looked at Bucky. His eyes were wide and mouth open. The light must have tricked him, it looked like Bucky was crying.

“Do you understand what I’m asking from you?” Steve let his voice crack, his hands couldn’t stop shaking. Bucky was quiet, in shock. Steve understood why, he’d just informed Bucky of what Steve couldn’t even tell Sam most of the time. But Steve trusted Bucky to understand. Watching Bucky’s pale face and wide eyes, Steve wasn’t so sure anymore. Bucky inhaled sharply and nodded. 

“I… I don’t know what to say.” Bucky looked at him, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to find words. Steve didn’t blame him. Bucky looked down at the ground, for a few moments the only thing Steve could hear was their own heavy breathing. Steve shivered, suddenly feeling ice in his bones.

Then, Bucky surprised him. He threw his arms around Steve, his nose touching the crock of Steve’s neck. Steve paused for a second, not knowing what to do. He came to his senses and pressed into Bucky’s body, letting himself breathe again. Bucky was a solid rock underneath him, stroking Steve’s back up and down. It was like falling, after being balanced on a thin line for years. Steve sobbed into Bucky’s neck, trying to catch his breath that was being chased away by his own memories. 

“I’m here.” Bucky murmured, sounding awfully like his ma. His ma had said that every time when Steve had gotten so sick that he’d been confined to his bed. Bucky repeated it and Steve was almost assaulted by the memory of Sarah Roger’s smile. Her hugs. Her apple pie. Her funeral.

“I’m with you to the end of the line.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry (im not sorry)


	5. Five

Bucky tried to not resent Tony. He’s not a person that held onto a grunge. He considered himself a good person in that sense. But he resented Tony. Of course he would. He’d tried to quietly get his dorm changed. Coming up with an explanation was easy. Telling the GRT that Stark’s frequent and dangerous experiments was simply too much. Lisa had explained that Bucky could’t change dorms until the end of the Semester. It was April and finals were almost over, though Summer felt far, far away. Since he couldn’t change dorm, he avoided Tony. Easier said than done.

He worked more to avoid seeing Tony on the evenings and hanged out in Clint and Kate’s dorm more, even going straight to their dorm after class instead of going to the dorm. He barley slept in his own bed anymore. He slept on Steve’s couch.

Steve had not mentioned Tony after his brutal show of honesty in March. Bucky didn’t want to talk about Tony, Bucky didn’t want to even look at Tony. It was unfair, he knew that. He didn't know Tony’s side of the story, nor did he know how his father’s infidelity had affected the Stark family. Butit was about Steve, in the end it was all about him. Bucky was certain that he’d never seen someone so heartbroken before. And the fact that one of the origins of that was Bucky’s roommate. What made things easier was that Tony didn’t really take any notice to Bucky being more and more absent. Bucky supposed that Tony thought he’d gotten himself a partner and preferred to stay at their place. Which wasn’t precisely untrue. Bucky had a partner in a sense. A work partner, a partner in crime. Depended on one’s definition of “Partner”, the fact that Steve welcomed Bucky to stay over at his place whenever he wanted, predictably made things a whole lot more complicated. Both Steve’s and Bucky’s social network had expanded since opening the Howling Commandos. But Bucky wasn’t put in the corner just because Steve had more friends now. It had solidified Bucky’s position as Steve’s best friend.

It bothered him a little bit. Not that they were best friends. Bucky was even ecstatic about that part. It was the fact what their joint social network thought about them. Because suddenly it was “Steve and Bucky.” “Bucky and Steve”. Are _they_ coming? Are _they_ hosting another party? They’d become a duo pack in their eyes. And it bothered him because they just assumed that Steve and him were dating. It bothered Bucky because they weren’t. The confirmation that Steve liked men hadn’t made things easier at all. Suddenly, Bucky didn’t know how to act at times. In a way it been easier when Steve’s sexuality still was up to question. Then he could just pretend that their relationship was completely platonic. Then Steve came out in the most tragic way possible and Bucky didn’t know what to do. Sometimes they would act so fucking domestic that Bucky would just assume that’s how boyfriends act like. Bucky wouldn’t text, he’d just come over and open Steve’s apartment door. Because three weeks ago he’d been given a spare key. Bucky would put food in the fridge, because Steve always forgot to buy groceries. They would make dinner, shoulder to shoulder next to Steve’s small kitchen. They’d eat. They’d take the bus to work.

They were practically married, as Natasha had described their relationship. Bucky had replied that marriage usually includes sex. Steve and Bucky were not having sex, because they were just friends. After Steve’s admission, Steve had opened up more, talking about war stories and about his time in the army. Granted, Bucky felt like he’d earned it. His own struggle of being gay in Russia bubbling up during long conversations on Steve’s living room floor. So, Steve was bisexual. Bucky was gay. They weren’t dating.

It was stupid for Bucky to just assume just because both were attracted to men, that they would automatically be compatible to date. But they fit together so well. They barley argued, the last real argument they had was how to pronounce the word ‘Müsli’ for fucks sake. Steve could read Bucky like a book. He would just know when he’d feel uncomfortable and find an excuse so that Bucky could politely walk away from an awkward situation. Bucky could see when Steve was on edge, his shoulders tightened and a small tick in his jaw, it meant that Steve was ready for a physical fight. Bucky would gently tap his shoulder and pull him out of it.

They were good together, undeniably. So Bucky didn’t feel like an idiot when he wondered daily why they weren’t dating. The only reason why they weren’t, in Bucky’s eyes was because Steve didn’t like him in that way.Feeling miserable and like an angst ridden twelve year old, Bucky tried to push the whole _‘Why am I not considered boyfriend material’_ problem into the back of his head.

He managed to refocus his life. Back to studying after class, it wasn't three hours, but he fell back on track. Managing to get a good routine. Wake up on Steve’s couch. Go to class. Longboard back to Burton-Conner. Study with 241C. Trek back to Steve’s. Eat dinner. Work. Take the 1 buss back to Steve’s. Sleep on Steve’s couch. It was pretty sad that his day started and ended on Steve’s couch and not in Steve’s bed. Bucky tried not to overthink that, he really, really tried not to.

“Three large beers, one whiskey sour and one bourbon on the rocks.” Bucky put down the black plate on the counter with a small sigh. It was the 5th of April, a Saturday. One of the busiest work days of the week. Even though it was only 11PM, Bucky felt exhausted already. Clint and another server named Jenny, a Harvard grad student worked the night shift. A second bartender, Emmanuel also worked on Saturday. Despite all the help, Bucky didn't have a moment of rest. The Howling Commandos had become a dive bar with a little bit higher standards than most dive bars. Steve produced the drinks and the complimentary chips wordlessly. Handing cold glasses over the counter with a small smile. Bucky balanced the drinks on one hand and moved between tables with an acquired grace. Four months into his new job, Bucky felt pretty proud of himself. By now, Bucky recognised most regulars and could call them by name, even remember their usual orders.

“Here you go, fellas. Having a good night?” Bucky could even make small talk without wanting to sink into the ground. The group of vets from the VA smiled and talked about their evening for a few seconds as Bucky cleared their table off glasses. Bucky smiled good naturally and laughed at bad jokes. Jenny joined his side as they cleaned off their section, Bucky adding to his tower of empty glasses and Jenny wiping the tables.

“Why do you do that?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. Bucky mirrored her expression and picked up another glass.

“Do what?”

“Manically laugh at their jokes. I mean, they’re good guys, but their jokes are shit.” Bucky chuckled and nodded. It was true, vets weren’t exactly comedians, their jokes usually took a way too dark turn. Bucky smirked and shrugged.

“I get better tips.” Jenny giggled and shook her head. She playfully hit Bucky’s shoulder with a wet cloth and pointed a finger at him.

“You sly minx.” Bucky tried to look innocent and held his hands up in defeat. It was true, he’d mastered the art of laughing at the right places. Charming enough to not seem too shallow. Initially, his pay had been ten bucks an hour. After a month and business going swell, Steve had added another five bucks. That plus an average of eighty bucks in tips nightly, things weren’t so bad. Bucky had been able to explain his seven shirts to twenty. Already making a new budget for the next semester. Bucky was pretty sure that knowing that he’s financially secure was the best feeling in the world. Granted, he still went shopping at the dollar store and walked to the discount aisle before anything else, but that was just habit.

Steve had already promised that Bucky could work full time at the bar during the summer. Which was great, he could maybe even have enough excess funds to fly to Russia for Christmas. Bucky often thought about Russia. He missed Natasha. Their relationship had not gotten weaker per say, but they didn't talk as often. Maybe once a week they would FaceTime. It made him a little sad, drifting apart from his longest friend. But Bucky supposed that’s how life worked. Old relationships dwindled and new ones occurred.

Bucky watched Steve work behind the bar through the window. He allowed himself a smoke break at 1PM, ‘five minutes’ Steve said in a mock-stern voice. Bucky wondered how Steve acted when he was truly ordering commands. Bucky often wondered how Steve acted in the army. If soldiers granted him unconditional loyalty, if he was considered a good commander. As Bucky felt like a peeping Tom, watching Steve through a window, he thought about Steve’s service uniform. How good he’d looked when they’d first met. He wondered how Steve looked in a combat uniform, with dirt in his face and sweat at his brow.

Bucky cleared his throat and took a deep drag. He was imagining very dangerous scenarios that he had no place to think of.

At 5PM Steve and Bucky were finished cleaning up and Steve locked the doors. Seated in back of the bus Bucky was starting to fall asleep. His eyes dropping every other minute and breathing evening out. Steve was a superhuman and Bucky had never really seen Steve truly exhausted. He was wide awake, eyes still alert and clear. Bucky felt unconsciousness creep at the corners. Steve was somehow a morning person and a night person. Completely unfair. Especially since Bucky was juggling coursework and a night job.

“Hey…” Bucky nudged Steve’s thigh with the heel of his new boots. Steve gave him a pointed look as sticky beer residue covered his jeans. Bucky was leaning on the plastic wall, one leg slung over Steve’s lap. Bucky triumphed when Steve didn’t push his leg away.

“What.” Bucky swallowed, trying to keep himself awake. The bus drive to Steve’s only lasted ten minutes, but it was well enough time for Bucky to settle in the plastic seat and get comfortable. He blinked slowly a few times and gave Steve a lazy smile.

“What are you doing on the 27th?” Steve frowned and raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing…” Steve answered hesitantly. Probably thinking it was a set up or something. Considering the fact that Bucky had tricked Steve into a covering every surface of Kate’s and Clint’s dorm with posters of cats the other week, the look wasn’t given unwarranted. Bucky rolled his eyes and shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Baker House has a thing on Thursday and you are coming with me.” Bucky said, Steve snorted and raised his eyebrows.

“Am I?” Bucky smirked and nodded.

“Yes. Besides everyone kinda expects you to.” Bucky said with a shrug. It was true. Steve wasn’t enrolled in a college, but he often joined Bucky at events and parties. Not as a date of course. As a friend. Yeah, as a _friend_.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to get drunk or something.” He said with a pointed finger. Bucky grumbled and swatted the finger away. Bucky was on an active crusade to get Steve drunk. The reason wasn’t was questionable as it may sound. It was in fact rather innocent. Steve had the alcohol tolerance of five men. Bucky had seen him chug pint after pint and still walk on steady feet. Bucky just wanted to know what kind of drunk Steve was. Steve was probably a sad drunk if Bucky was going to be honest, but Steve had seen Bucky drunk way too many times. He just wanted to get square.

Steve was on his own active crusade. To try to get Bucky start jogging with him. He was awakened way too early by Steve tapping his shoulder, repeatedly. Knowing what Steve was trying to get him to do, Bucky pretend to be fast asleep. Steve, seeing right through his act, chuckled and lightly slapped his cheek. Bucky snapped his eyes open and gave him the finger, then pulled the sheets over his head.

“Wake up.”

“Fuck off, Steve.” Bucky muttered and he knew that it was a reasonable time to get up, but he refused to give into Steve’s adorable pestering.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Bucky whined when Steve pulled the sheet off his head, exposing his body to the cold. Bucky hissed and gave him a glare, pulling his legs up to his chest.

“No, don’t wanna.” Steve had tried to make Bucky join him for his daily, fucking _daily_ runs for weeks now. Bucky was stubborn and profusely refused every time. Steve was also stubborn and persisted every time.

“Get up. If you still wanna smoke half a pack a day, you have to get your cardio up.” Steve argued, Bucky starred up at him, Steve was already dressed in trains gear and was resting his forearms on the couch. Bucky glared at him.

“I don’t smoke that much.” He said weakly. He didn’t smoke half a pack a day, one pack lasted a week and Bucky thought that it was perfectly okay. Steve clearly didn’t, Steve was a health nut in Bucky’s eyes. The amount of times Steve had asked him to buy whole wheat bread instead of white and quinoa was alarming. Bucky didn’t even know what the fuck a quinoa was. Steve Rogers was a hipster health nut. Steve gave him a pointed look.

“You get out of breath going up the stairs.” He said deadpanned. Bucky opened his mouth and then closed it. It wasn’t true, he always took the stairs and that was enough exercise for a day. It’s Steve’s fault that he lives on the sixth floor anyways.

“Let’s go Private Barnes!” Bucky clenched his jaw. Hearing Steve’s commanding, military strict voice was completely unfair on his part. Bucky sighed deeply but slowly got up. His hard cock was not affected by Steve’s voice, it’s was just because he’d just woken up. He tried to convince himself that as he walked to the bathroom.

Bucky, in hindsight would probably would have appreciated the silence, the lack of cars and people in the usually crowded Cambridge. But his calfs were burning, his lungs contracted too often and his arms felt like useless sticks. It was a Sunday morning and Steve was smiling, cheering Bucky on. Bucky thought that jogging was what dying felt like. Steve had said that the were going to start off easy with just three miles. Bucky had looked at him like he was insane. Then Steve had explained that he and Sam usually go for ten miles. Bucky wondered how Steve still had functioning legs, because that was just not humanly possible. Despite his legs crawling with ants, Bucky gritted his teeth together and kept his pace. He was not going to allow Steve to mock him for not being able to finish the lap. Having a friend who’s obsessed with training wasn’t new. Natasha’s work was basically just physical exercise. He remembered she also ran ten miles a day last Winter, to be able to preform Swan Lake. But Bucky wasn’t a ballet dancer or a war veteran. He was a college undergrad with a sodium filled diet. Needless to say, he was exhausted when they made it back to Steve’s building.

“I’m fuckin’ dyin Steve.” Bucky managed to pant out. He was slightly surprised when his old Brooklyn accent came out. Bucky leaned on the wall and felt like he was about to puke. He could hear Steve chuckling. Without looking up, he saluted the middle finger, but regretted it as soon as he did. His arms were burning.

“Not that bad.” Steve commented and Bucky felt his chest fill with pride. But instead of showing it, he let out a string of Russian curses, hoping that the pain would go away. Bucky leaned his forehead against the brick wall, spitting once on the ground. Jogging was fucking terrible. He glanced up at Steve. Steve had barley broken a sweat, as punishment, Bucky demanded him to make breakfast.

Steve chuckled and agreed. He prepared pancakes as Bucky was lying on the couch again. His legs shaking. He was going to be sore the next day, that was for certain. They eat breakfast at the table, Bucky complaining non-stop about his legs. Steve rolled his eyes and stated that he was being a baby about it. Somehow through more pestering and puppy eyes, Steve had made Bucky agree into jogging together two times a week. Bucky had conceded after more complaining, but secretly he knew it was a good thing. He wouldn’t have teenage metabolism forever. Steve had triumphantly said that they were jogging partners now. Bucky gave Steve a glare and said that ‘Jogging Partners’ was the most pathetic thing he’d ever heard. Steve replied that Bucky should put his money where his mouth was, because they were going to run five miles next time. That made Bucky shut up.

“You guys are such a power couple.” Bucky looked up from his textbook and gave Kate a glare. She was not studying as she should be, preoccupied designing some kind of bow. In MIT it was generally frowned upon engineering functioning weapons, but Kate didn’t really follow rules. She pointed a crude version of an arrow in Bucky’s general direction and Bucky backed into the wall, trying to avoid getting stabbed.

“You totally are though!” Bucky shook his head and tried to turn back to the current paragraph. He was in Kate’s and Clint’s dorm, trying to study for his last final. Though studying with them was probably not the best method. They always seemed to turn the subject of conversation to Steve. Which was distracting, especially when Clint and Kate discussed the prospect that Steve was the Vitruvian Man. A man with prefect proportions. Bucky put down his textbook and highlighter, giving them both glares.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” He asked, Kate raising two eyebrows and Clint mirroring her expression. He’d gotten used to the fact that they shared a brain and wasn’t surprised when they replied in unison;

“Mean by what?”

“That we’re a power couple. We’re not a power couple. I’m not Beyonce.” Bucky said drily, having thought over what Kate had said for twenty minutes. Kate chuckled and Clint shook his head.

“Steve is totally Beyonce in this scenario.” He laughed. Bucky, feeling a little bit insulted kicked Clint, who was sitting next to him.

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky repeated. Kate laughed and crossed her legs, leaning her head on her forearms on the edge of the bed.

“What we mean is that you’re a power couple. You work in a bar together, which everybody loves. And everybody loves Steve, and everyone thinks that you’re awesome. Both of you are attractive. He’s a GQ cover, you’re grunge chic. Watching you work together in the bar… Man, it’s like the beginning of a porno.” Bucky frowned for several seconds. He had, just like everyone who had a net neutrality, exhausted the number of explicit videos watched under the bedsheets. Kate was right that Steve looked like a GQ cover, that everybody loved Steve. The whole porno thing was however more questionable. Bucky supposed that he was attractive enough. But being sexually repressed since he moved to America, an unhealthy amount of self-consciousness had built up. Sure, he’d hooked up with guys before. In dark bathrooms and back-alleys. It was always in a rush, two men hurrying the process up because risk getting caught in a bed wasn’t worth it. In Russia the options were limited, the challenge was to find someone willing to risk it. Looks always came second. He was not on the same level as Steve when it came to attractiveness. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was even on Steve’s level when it came to anything.

“Why is it that Steve is loved by everyone and I’m just “awesome”?” Bucky asked with a heavy grimace, making quotation marks in the air. Kate gave Clint a look, then back at Bucky. When she hesitated, Clint answered.

“You’re not that approachable.” He said with a shrug. Bucky laughed. Despite Clint being the funniest person he knew, that must have been the best joke he’d ever said. Bucky was approachable, maybe people didn’t want to talk with him because he looked homeless most of the time.

“Okay, no offence-“

“Offence full taken.” Bucky cut off Kate. She bit the inside of her cheek and considered him for a second. Bucky cowered a little under her stare, feeling like he was under a microscope.

“So… Okay, um. People don’t know you that well… People just look at you.” She started off. Bucky gave her a glare and looked at Clint.

“Am I being objectified?” Clint shook his head and pointed at Kate, Bucky sighed and turned his attention to Kate who was still trying to form another sentence.

“Remember when we first met? At the movies? Clint was with you and I was super awkward?” Bucky thought back at their first encounter with a tilted head. Back in September when Clint had invited him to the movies, an incident that now was so common. It took Bucky a few seconds to even remember what happened. Scott and the Slovakia twins were there and of course Kate. It been nothing out of the ordinary, with the exception that Bucky had been pissing himself nervous. He thought that he’d covered it up quite well. He’d been too busy with his own anxiety to notice Kate’s supposed ‘awkwardness’.Bucky slowly nodded, not sure what Kate was aiming at.

“I remember thinking, how the fuck did Clint become friends with this guy? Honestly, I was intimidated. You walked up to us and was just this like super cool guy, dressed like Alexander McQueen’s early work. You had a murder strut.” She said this so seriously and gravely that Bucky didn’t really comprehend the sentence until a second after.

“What the fuck is a murder strut?” Bucky asked, the words sounding odd and definitely not something that could describe himself with. Kate and Clint shared a look. Bucky sighed, a little bit annoyed when they communicated silently.

“You stormed out of the subway station looking like you were ready to take down your mortal enemies.” Clint said with a shrug. Bucky was speechless for half a second and then exclaimed;

“I was looking weird because I was so fucking nervous! Jesus…” He shook his head and leaned back in the bed.

“Well, to the rest of the world it looked like you were either walking down a runway or on your way to assassinate someone.” Kate said like that was a normal thing to say.

“So basically I’m just awesome because I look like I want to kill people? That’s… Awesome.” Bucky was sure that he’d never said the word awesome with so much distain before. Both Kate and Clint grimaced.

“Not only that, you’re a charming guy.” Kate explained, and left it at that. Like Bucky could understand what she meant by just that sentence. Bucky didn’t. He flirted an appropriate amount at work to get better tips, but he wasn’t charming. They of all people should know that. Just last week he’d eaten a snickers bar off the floor. They could attest as witnesses that Bucky wasn’t charming. If charming wasn’t a subjective for disgusting.

“From a distance you seem like the ‘it’ guy, you hang out with war vets for christ’s sake. You work in a bar, which gives you brownie points. You also go to MIT, but you’re not a nerd. You seem like that you can become friends with everybody. You also speak Russian, which is super hot. Your boss slash boyfriend, is constantly with you. You just look like this dude that has it all. Yet super laid back and not…” Clint looked at Kate for help and she filled in the laundry list of the things that made him “charming’.

“A pretentious Harvard douchebag.” Clint snapped his fingers and nodded in agreement. Bucky thought it over and felt a little better about himself. Most people did when they were showered in compliments. But a few things bothered him.

“Steve isn’t my boyfriend.” Bucky started and then added;

“I don’t have it all! I’m in constant existential peril and terrified of being forgotten as just another person in the world.” Bucky said with a sigh. Kate laughed and shook her head.

“Key word being; You seem. People don’t want to approach you because you _seem_ like the ‘it’ guy. It doesn’t matter if you are to not.” She explained.

“Maybe that’s why Steve hasn’t pulled a move on you.” Clint added drily. Bucky snapped his head in Clint’s direction. He gave Clint a look which he replied with a smirk. Clint knew that Bucky was suffering from ‘Boy Trouble’. Yet this was the first time he even mentioned advice to him. Bucky usually just vented to a silent audience most of the time.

“People that actually do talk to you, consider you a friend. Maybe you don’t, but they do. So in everybody’s eyes, you have like, a million friends. Steve might be intimidated to even ask because you have such a wide range of selection.” Clint explained. Bucky frowned. In his eyes, he had ten friends. The usual suspects didn’t include regular customers, because they were _customers._

“Even if I had a million friends, I wouldn’t subtract Steve as an option. He’s, like, the only option.” Bucky said, a little bit shocked at his own admission. Kate and Clint giggled and gave him a pointed look.

“You’re a fool in love.”

James Bucky Barnes was a fool in love. It wasn’t news really, but after their failed study session, Bucky couldn’t stop thinking of what they’d said. He knew that they were trying to encourage him, but their words had worked in the opposite effect. He felt self-conscious when he walked down the street for fucks sake. Bucky was aware that he also acted weird at times, his flirting game was off at work. He would feel awkward talking to Steve, in a way, Bucky was back at square one. Steve had noticed it and asked about it. Bucky had explained that he was just missing his family in Russia, having not seen them in person in five months. It wasn't a lie, Bucky couldn’t just lie to Steve. But his family and Nat was way down the list of things that induced anxiety. He still wasn’t sure if the things that Kate and Clint had said were true. He didn’t feel like he had a million friends, he’d just a few weeks ago started to talk to Sam. They didn’t really get along. But Bucky tried for Steve’s sake. Sam felt like an annoying, smug older brother. Bucky certainly didn’t think he was the ‘it’ guy at all. He didn't even try to deduce the reasons why the conjoined twins were convinced of it. The one thing that was true was that he was a fool in love. Along the sensation of burning, he felt like an idiot. The source of the burning was jogging. It been three weeks of exercising with Steve. They’d managed to up the distance to eight miles and three times a week instead of two. Bucky refused to admit that it had been a good idea.

He already had a lean build, thanks to fast metabolism. But after three weeks of having Steve on his back like a drill sergeant, Bucky was starting to notice significant differences. He didn’t get out of breath walking up Steve's stairs. He’d developed defined muscles. He looked a little bit like the ballet dancers Natasha worked with. Bucky couldn’t complain about the psychical results. He however felt like an idiot because he was starring. More specifically starring at Steve’s ass. Steve was a few paces ahead of him, as always. So Bucky had the perfect vantage point to stare. He felt like a creep, Steve was completely obvious as far as he could tell. He should keep his eyes on the road, but Steve’s wearing skin tight clothes. Bucky couldn’t help himself. The soft breeze didn't help either, the wind blowing straight through his thin shorts. It was unfair, Steve didn’t realise how he looked. His shoulders worked under thin fabric, showing off his body. Bucky hoped that he could with sheer willpower force down his excited dick. He blamed the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in over five months. When they got back to Steve’s place, Bucky was exhausted and his erection hadn’t went away. Steve’s loud panting behind him walking up the stairs certainly didn’t help. Trying to hide his embarrassing predicament, Bucky fled to the bathroom. Saying that he had monopoly on the shower. Bucky pulled off his damp clothes and threw them in the hamper before stepping into the shower. He groaned when cold water attacked his body. His entire body burned with exhaustion. He distracted himself by trying to clean his hair, to be fair, his moment of weakness wasn't unwarranted. Bucky couldn't remember the last time he’d jacked off. Having a roommate and having Stark as said roommate, he didn’t want to take the risk of getting caught. He was pent up, weeks of sexual frustration bubbled up, unwanted. Because he was standing in Steve’s shower. Using his shampoo in his hair and he could fucking hear Steve in the living room between the thin walls. Bucky held in a curse as the cold water continued to flow, he knew that his problem wasn’t going to go away any time soon. He tried to calm himself and tried to think of anything, Natasha clipping her toenails, Clint puking his guts up in a toilet. Anything.

It didn’t work. His cock was saluting him with a metaphorical ‘you’re fucked’ and Bucky sighed deeply. He could overcome this. He’d been dancing around the Steve problem for weeks and if he could do that, he could abstain from mastrubating in Steve’s bathroom. He knew that he was lying to himself. Bucky’s forehead met cold marble tiles when his hand wrapped around his dick. Bucky swore under his breath, realising that the current situation he was in, wasn’t going to just go away as he’d first hoped. Heat spiked in his stomach, he felt pathetic, he’d barley even touched himself and he knew that it was going to be over soon. He swallowed and closed his eyes, surrounded by the smell of Steve. The smell alone got him worked up, the clean smell of his shampoo that he was covered in, Bucky imagined Steve standing behind him, watching. Bucky held in a bitter laugh, Steve could probably hear him through the walls. That got him to stroke his cock faster, maybe Steve a kind of person that got off on that. Bucky felt himself grow thicker in his hand, the mere thought of Steve watching him, commanding him to stroke himself slower so he could watch, got Bucky to slow down. He swallowed again, gulping down air and water, he was panting hard. He grew harder and hotter, despite the ice cold water. He dragged his thumb over the leaking slit of his cock. He thought back to when he’d first met Steve, when he’d worn his service uniform, then back to a few weeks ago. The voice that Steve had used on him. Bucky groaned quietly, imagining Steve in his uniform, ordering Bucky to look at him, maybe fuck himself with his fingers. Bucky hit his forehead against the wall, breathing harshly. His strokes grew faster as heat filled his veins. He couldn’t help a small moan escape his lips, he cursed himself and bit the inside of his cheek. He removed his resting forearm from the wall and pulled his hand through his wet hair. Bucky gulped down hair, knowing that he was close. He closed his eyes again and started to pull at his own hair. He imagined it was Steve, he was too caught up in the pleasure to realise how fucking wrong the entire situation was. Steve was behind him, watching over Bucky’s shoulder, puling at his hair. Bucky held in another moan and pulled harder, on the brink of being painful. He wanted it to be. Bucky swore again and stroked even faster. His release came almost painfully hard. Bucky panted and starred as his hands accusingly. Bucky closed his eyes briefly and told himself that he was well and completely fucked in every aspect of the word.

The process of cleaning Steve’s shower of any evidence was a fast and mortifying process. He washed the tiles with cold water and covered both himself and the walls with soap. Realistically, he knew that no one was able to smell cum, but Bucky was too embarrassed to even think over that. He tried to convince himself that mastrubastion was completely normal and he was a grown man who had needs. Though the fact that he’d only thought of his best friend while doing it made his convictions harder to for fill. Bucky kept his eyes on the floor as he wrapped a towel around himself, scrubbing his skin furiously, trying to rid himself of any evidence. He laughed bitterly as he realised that he hadn’t brought any extra clothes. Shaking his head he pulled on Steve’s clothes. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d borrowed clothes from Steve. Bucky pushed down his panicked protests as Steve wordlessly walked into the bathroom as soon as he was out the door. Bucky breathed out slowly, it wasn’t like Steve would notice. He fucking hoped that Steve wouldn’t notice. Or maybe he did, that way Bucky might know for sure if Steve wanted him or not.

Bucky tried to escape the B2 living area when he saw Tony walk through the door. They hadn’t talked in weeks. His panic grew as he realised that Tony had seen him and was making his way towards him. Bucky was quiet as Tony made himself comfortable in the seat opposite him. Bucky had planned to eat dinner with Kate and Clint, but he’d come back early to Burton-Conner and was waiting for them to come. He glanced at Tony and hoped that his smile didn’t look as stale as it felt.

“Hey roomie…” Tony drawled. Bucky gave him a tense smile and nodded. Tony frowned and leaned forward over the table.

“So, rumour has it that you’re dating a certain Captain.” Bucky kept his anxiety down and shook his head, trying to act normal.

“The rumour mill always keeps churning. I’m not. And it’s former Captain.” Bucky added and cursed himself, the unnecessary information spilling out before he could stop it. Tony chuckled.

“Of course it is.” Bucky looked up from his hands and back at Tony, he clicked his jaw and asked;

“What do you want Tony?” Tony frowned again, Bucky knew that his hostile tone came as a surprise, but he couldn’t help it.

“I just wanna know why my roommate is avoiding me.” He drawled and leaned his hand under his chin, staring at Bucky. Bucky shifted and shrugged.

“I’ve just been busy.” He felt like he was in the principals office. Tony raised an eyebrow nodded.

“That’s a lie.” Bucky snorted and shook his head.

“I have a job and a life outside a dorm room, you know.” He said and tried to escape the conversation topic by being overly-casual. It didn’t work, Tony was a genius and sure, he wasn’t a people person. But Bucky was sure that a five year old could see through his act. Tony gave him a look and laughed.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I’m you’re roommate and I gave you the suit to begin-“ Bucky cut him off, leaning over the table with a glare.

“Don’t throw that in my face. Just because you were nice one time doesn’t mean you’re entitled to ask me about anything. Don’t hold that over my head.” Bucky hissed. Tony leaned back, into his chair and held his hands up.

“Woah… Calm down dude. I’m just concerned.” Tony smiled. It felt condescending. Bucky shook his head again. He looked at the door. Then around the room. They were alone. Tony noticed it too and his smile disappeared.

“Okay. Let’s drop the act. I know that Rogers told you.” Tony said in a harsh tone. Bucky tensed. The anger was there, on a leash. To Bucky, passive aggressiveness was more dangerous than unleashed anger. Bucky watched Tony carefully. He could see the cogs turning, an inner monologue playing that Bucky couldn’t interrupt. Bucky shifted closer into his seat.

“Do you have any idea what he did?”

“I do.”

“Do you have any idea what he did to me?” Tony hissed. Bucky raised an eyebrow, trying to keep calm.

“I know enough.”

“Clearly not, because you’re somehow angry with me and not him.” Bucky frowned and tried to keep his curiosity at bay.

“You kept him from saying goodbye.” Bucky commented. Tony didn’t take notice. He was starring behind Bucky, at the wall.

“Dad turned to alcohol. Way before I was born. Mom and dad didn’t love each other, but they didn’t divorce either. It was inventible that one of them would turn to infidelity. When dad got himself a boyfriend, mom started to take vacations. She knew all along. She didn't like that so she went to Italy, Morocco, Portugal and then France. She left me at months at a time back in New York. I was five when it started. Mom pulled a classic dad and started her day with two glasses of gin. Dad was obsessed with Rogers. He talked about him more than he spent time with mom. When he died, do you know what his last words was to me? _Tell Steve I’m sorry_. He chose a fucking low class private over me. Mom was pissed when she found out that dad left thirty precent of his assets to Rogers. I heard that he started a bar with the capita. Ironic since both of my parents drank themselves to death. So I’m sorry if you feel angry on the behalf of your boyfriend, but he ruined my life.” Bucky was silent for several seconds. He knew that it had been unfair to just hear Steve’s side of the story out. Tony had a right to be angry. Bucky could even sympathise with him. But Tony had also done things wrong, so had Steve. Bucky tried to not pick a side. Both of them were angry and heartbroken. It would be unfair. Bucky let out a slow breath and said;

“Steve was Howard’s friend.” He said the word carefully. Lover or boyfriend seemed crass and inappropriate. Tony snorted a laugh and smiled. It was wide and stretched his cheek. It looked painful.

“I was his son.” He hissed. Bucky closed his eyes and sighed. Tony wasn’t faultless blaming Steve. Tony stood up, his eyes were shining. He swallowed and tried to keep his composure.

“I like you Barnes, but we can’t be friends if you wanna run into the sunset with him.” Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. He shook his head and looked up at Tony.

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” Bucky didn’t see a reason why everything had to be in black and white. Tony gave him a look.

“It does.”

“You need to talk to him.” Bucky said. Tony starred him down.

“I would rather be six feet under.”

Bucky was quiet. Two days after talking to Tony and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He liked Tony, he had insane tendencies but they’d been friends before he met Steve. The choice itself, between Tony or Steve wasn’t a hard one. But he didn’t know why it had to be a choice. Bucky thought it was a little bit childish to have to chose between two people. But he now know where they’re coming from. He was torn between telling Steve what happened or not. The whole situation felt like it could be solved by talking out. But Bucky didn’t know if he knew everything about it either. Tony had been a kid when it happened and maybe childish imagination had exaggerated things. Steve might have been too consumed with loss to realise how much Tony was hurting.

Bucky sighed. The Steve Problem had grown as well as another problem had been added to the mix. The Tony Problem. Bucky supposed it was a part of college life. It was the 27th of April and as planned Steve and him were trekking down Memorial Drive to Baker House. Steve was talking about some obscure Italian art house movie. Bucky was listening with a half ear. Steve had bribed Bucky to stop smoking, it hadn’t worked. He flicked the filter down the drain and squinted into the sun. A crowd had already gathered around Baker House.

“What is this?” Steve asked. Bucky turned his head to Steve with a smile.

“It’s a MIT tradition.” Steve narrowed his eyes. Bucky smirked.

“Started in ’72. In celebration of finals being over we drop a piano off the sixth floor of Baker House.” Steve stumbled in over the pavement and gave him a look of disbelief.

“Seriously?” Bucky laughed and nodded.

“Yeah. We’ve been planning it for weeks now. Bought an old, used piano. Apparently they filled it with confetti this year. Points for originality.They even invented a term for it, they call it a Bruno. Bruno is a unit of volume resulting from a piano falling six stories onto Amherst Alley from the roof of Baker House.” Steve looked at the roof of the housing hall with a half smile.

“That’s amazing. We had weird college traditions at Cornell, but they usually involved more alcohol.” He commented as they walked up the lawn of the house. Joining the two hundred or so undergrads. They already had cameras on. Waiting for the event to start, the drop was meant to happened at 4.15PM. It was already 4.10.

“They didn’t usually contain math.” Steve added when Bucky excitedly explained the logistics of the whole event. Bucky laughed and gave Steve a pointed look.

“Dropping a piano is an art.” He said. Steve hummed in agreement. They were soon joined by other undergrads from Burton-Conner. Including Scott, Kate, Clint and the Twins. Kate and Clint gave him sly looks when they spotted Steve. Bucky discreetly gave them the finger. They watched in anticipation as they spotted students on the roof, prepping for the drop. The piano was rigged on a ramp, the piano itself on wheels. Bucky had seen videos of the drop from last year and held his breath when the piano inched closer to the edge. Bucky joined the applause when the piano finally fell into free fall. The drop lasted about two seconds and when the piano met ground, the whole lawn erupted in cheers. Bucky hooted loudly, the drop was a sign that finals were over and Summer break was beginning. The sun was blinding even though it was just late Spring. His skin felt hot and Bucky was overwhelmed with the happiness that filled his entire body. The students crowded around the broken instrument, trying to get their hands on a piece, a souvenir of sorts. As Bucky took a stance to join them, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He frowned and looked over, Steve was behind him. Thinking of the shower incident, Bucky couldn’t help the blush creeping up his neck. His brows furrowed when he saw Steve’s serious, almost somber look. He was about to ask if if everything was okay, but Steve beat him to it.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Steve said it with such finality that Bucky didn’t really register the words. And suddenly Steve was leaning in. Bucky nodded when he saw Steve hesitate. Bucky’s heart was in his throat and it was a wonder that Steve couldn’t hear his hummingbird heart. Bucky had thought over the situation that currently was playing out a million times. A hypotheses of sorts. His mind went blank and he he couldn’t hear anything expect their own breathing. Steve could read Bucky like a book and noticed his nerves. Bucky almost filched when Steve’s finger wrapped around one of Bucky's fingers, pulling him closer. Bucky then realised that he’d been starring on the ground. When he looked up at Steve, Bucky cloud cry.

His eyes were clear and honest. Brutally honest and Bucky knew it that moment that his affections had been mutual. He wondered if Steve had been the same kind of mess Bucky had been. He felt silly and so, so young when Steve got closer. Bucky breathed out slowly, in the same pace as Steve. Bucky’s anxiety dissipated when Steve carefully leaned his forehead against his. Bucky looked at Steve, he hand’t realised until now that Steve was a little taller than him. Bucky couldn’t stop the smile that played on his lips. He didn’t associate Steve with the word slow. Steve did things on impulse, the bar, their own friendship. But Steve was slow, slowly wrapping his arms around Bucky. Slowly meeting his lips. Even though he’d gotten a head start, he was surprised when it finally happened. Months and weeks of built up anticipation and Bucky could barley keep up. Steve’s mouth was so warm, the caress of his lips softer than Bucky could have imagined. Despite Steve’s slow pace, which Bucky was grateful for, he turned greedy fast. Pulling Steve closer, wrapping his arms tighter around Steve’s waist. Steve let out a small groan against Bucky’s lips and responded with eagerness. Bucky reached up and touched Steve’s cheek and down to his neck, pulling him even closer. He could feel Steve smiling and Bucky let out a low chuckle. Bucky cursed the thought, they could have done this for weeks now. But then he also realised that Steve needed time, and the wait in the end, was worth it.

He wasn’t sure who pulled away first, but when they did and Bucky opened his eyes again, he laughed. Steve was laughing with him, Steve looked at him with such fondness that it felt foreign. Then sound resumed to fill his ears and he was surrounded by a wall of cheering. He glanced around and blushed when he realised that most undergrads had turned to look at them. Even a few cameras were pointed in their direction. Bucky covered his flushed face in his hands and groaned quietly. Steve wrapped an arm around him, pulling Bucky close to his chest. Bucky breathed out slowly and hid his head in the crock of Steve’s neck.

“They finally had their first kiss everybody!” Bucky’s blush travelled straight over his ears at Clint’s words. He heard Steve telling him to shut up. Bucky, without looking up raised a middle finger from the source of the sound.

“End of the line.” Steve muttered into Bucky’s hair. He slowly nodded in agreement. He’d always mocked cheesy movies that he’d watch with Kate and Clint. This was undeniably the cheesiest situation he’d ever been in. But Bucky loved every single second of it.

“You’re such a power couple!” Bucky looked up at Kate’s words and found her quickly. She was standing in the crowd with a smug grin. Bucky rolled his eyes and gave her a small smile. Kate returned his smile and gave him a thumbs up. Bucky rolled his eyes again. His smile turned wider when he felt Steve’s chuckle against his back. Bucky sighed and leaned into Steve.

“Imagine that. Lower class Brooklynite got together with Captain Fucking America.” Bucky muttered. Steve laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: MIT actually do drop a piano off Baker House anually


End file.
